The Caterpillar Effect
by A Fishman Out of Water
Summary: Albus Dumbledore was a strange man, no doubt. This was one of his stranger choices. He adopts the recently orphaned child of the Potters, to raise him up and mold him into someone that can finally defeat Voldemort for good and stop anything like this from happening again. But the strangest choices have even stranger ways of turning out.
1. Chapter 1

It was a silent night on the 31st of October, 1981 in Godric's Hollow. One of the few places where mundane and magical society lived in peaceful harmony, unbeknownst to the normal people who lived there. Usually, the street would be alive, rife with the delightful glee of children, happily going trick-or-treating, filling their plastic coffers with bountiful sweets. Such was the jubilation that Halloween brought, with playful costumes designed to either scare or enthral the onlookers. However, this was not such a night. An oppressive stench of fear filled the air, weighing down the atmosphere of the street. There wasn't a hint of a breeze, nor a single chirp from a passing cricket. A tense silence that would break at the slightest whisper. And break it did, not with a whisper, but with a bang. A flash of eerie green light illuminated the entire street, bathing the quaint houses in an emerald splendour. As fast as it arrived, it flickered away, a fleeting sign of the tragedy that had occurred.

There was a house in Godric's Hollow, an odd two-story house, that, apart from the overgrown weeds that adorned its garden and vines crawling up its white walls, looked no different from the other houses that lay alongside it. Whatever beautiful flowers that had once occupied the lawn were now wilting, neglect bringing them to their slow, eventual demise. However, this house was far from abandoned. The windows on the first floor, though their cyan blue curtains were drawn, were brightly lit. The front door, open wide, let out the sounds of a faint jazz melody. The only thing that set it apart was the giant gaping hole in the second floor and the surrounding roof caved in.

It was at the front door that a loud rumble filled the air. A man drove down the street, riding a vintage motorcycle, halting to a stop in front of the residence. Clad in a black leather jacket, plain white casual t-shirt and black jeans, with a cleanly shaven face, he wildly looked around, locks of ebony hair descending down to his shoulders swinging along. This was Sirius Black, last son of the ancient Black family and member of the Order of the Phoenix. Taking note of the state of the house, he cursed, and rushed in.

The inside of the residence was a mess. Along every surface were dark grooves, carved by vicious force, reeking of dark energy. Furniture was strewn around the room, shards of a wooden table littering the floor, blasted apart. Sitting in the corner of the room was the body of a man. A bloody stump was what remained of his left arm, lacerations cut deep into his chest. Sirius let out a choked sob, running to his side.

"James, James." Cradling James' head in his lap, Sirius let his hand pass over his friend's hazy eyes, closing them, before squeezing his shut as well, as a few tears leaked out. James Potter was dead, slaughtered in his own home in cold blood. Sirius let himself mourn for what had been a lifetime friend, his salvation. _They could still be alive. _There was still work to be done. _They could still be saved_. Sirius shot up, running to what had been the little baby Potter's bedroom.

It was there that he found nothing but a crying babe, in his crib. His mother lay beside, unscathed. Sirius dove down and felt for a pulse, hoping to feel something, anything, but it was all for naught. Lily Evans-Potter lay dead in his arms. A victim of the killing curse, something that left the body untouched but severed the connection of the soul. And Sirius wept, unable to keep it in anymore. The light from his world was gone. Gone, just like that. Never again see James smile, his unkempt hair shadowing his eyes just slightly. Never again would he hear Lily's infectious laughter. A mournful howl left Sirius' mouth, shredding his throat raw, fighting and clawing its way out. It was the tragedy of war, the loss of what had been his closest friends.

And then Sirius heard it again. The cry of the babe. Mewling, snivelling, the babe was alive. Sirius clutched onto the side of the crib, his grip as tight as it could be, and yet it felt as though the crib could just slip through his fingers. Reaching desperately, Sirius picked him up gently. Harry James Potter was alive. Inquisitive wide eyes stared back at him, the innocence in them unmarred from the horrors of war. _His godson was alive._ And Sirius swore to him, swore to his best friends, that he would never fail them again. He would avenge them, he would take care of their son, he would raise him to be the best damn boy that he could be.

A hulking beast of a man stepped through the doorway of the nursery. He must have been eight feet tall, with thick eyebrows, a unkempt, full beard and straggly hair that framed his face. His hazel eyes, red with grief, and a nose that had been broken by one too many a barfight.

"Hagrid." Sirius had neither the will nor the energy to say more. Hagrid nodded at him, slowly stepping past the debris that Sirius had ignored.

"Is there any nearby threat?" A rough rumble in the form of a Scottish accent escaped past Rubeus Hagrid's chapped lips.

Sirius shook his head in negative. _Enemies… _A wicked whisper started forming in his head, echoing through to the furthest reaches of his mind. Who was it who revealed the Potter family to the enemy? Who was it who had disappeared so conveniently when he had popped out for a pint to calm his nerves? Who was it who had said to trust him, to say that Sirius wasn't the only friend of the Potters who could be trusted? Who betrayed his own friends after they took him in, shared their years of school together, fought side by side in this accursed war? Who was to blame for the wreckage he saw before him? Peter Pettigrew. And Sirius saw red anger and murderous rage, and his promise was to be broken, moments after he had made it.

* * *

Hagrid was by no means a gentle man, which was why he cradled little Harry Potter with the utmost precision that his large hands could find. Strict orders he had, from the Headmaster himself. Deliver the babe to Dumbledore, and never let him out of his own sight. Protect him with his own life. Use Sirius' bike to bring him Harry with the utmost haste. The steady rumble of the bike vibrated against Hagrid's inner thigh, but one thing was different about this bike. It was capable of flight. Indeed, Hagrid flew through the sky, looking as ridiculous as he felt. Hagrid had never been one for flying, and yet here he was doing so. A half-giant in the sky, who would've thought? Hagrid rolled his eyes at the very thought of it, scoffing. It was then that the wide eyes of Harry Potter opened.

Emerald-green eyes peered back at him, curious who this unkempt man who kept too much hair on his face. Hagrid was at a loss for words. Usually, he avoided such interactions, sure that he would somehow squash the baby. And yet here one was, in his arms.

"You know… You, er… You have your mum's eyes." Hagrid said, and then mentally smacked himself. He was talking to a baby.

Evidently, though, his attempt at least had some merit, for the babe in his arms started giggling. Hagrid took in the babe's face, studying it. Chubby cheeks that lacked the usual rosy splendour of a baby gave way to parted lips in the mould of a smile, and a cute button nose sitting slightly above that. However, the most defining feature of the baby was the scar carved into his forehead, freshly made. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt. The baby looked wildly around, his innocent eyes taking in the beautiful sight of the night sky.

"Beautiful, in'nit?" Hagrid chuckled, following along. As he perused the ink-black sky and the stars that dotted them, he started wondering about what this meant for the future. James and Lily Potter, dead. Their son, an orphan. One of the strongest fighters for the light had been snuffed out from this world. So engrossed in his thoughts was Hagrid that he failed to notice Harry Potter wiggling his tiny body out from Hagrid's less than secure grip, and then Harry started falling.

"Whoa there! Don't go bloody escaping me!" Hagrid grabbed the squealing baby with two hands, conveniently forgetting that he was driving the vehicle. Panicking, Hagrid grabbed onto the handlebars, and righted the bike as quickly as possible.

"Well then, best not tell your godfather about this then, eh?" He grinned down at the wee child, who continued to giggle, oblivious of the near-death experience that he had. Apparently, the ankle-biter was quite the troublemaker, and a brave one at that. As it should be, Hagrid thought, just like his father before him. And Hagrid continued the drive, his minds filled with meaningless worries interrupted by the warbling of the babe in his arms. As Hagrid came up near the safehouse for the Order of the Phoenix, though, he only had one thought on his mind.

How was he supposed to land this bloody thing?

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore stood in the middle of a small street called Privet Drive. He rifled through his pockets that were far too big for his robe. In his arm went- as deep as his elbow. Finally, he found it. His deluminator. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it twelve times. Each time he did, the street lamps closest to him flickered off. Satisfied, he slipped his gadget back into his pockets. Next to him, a black cat slowly padded up to him, arching its back to stretch its body out. Stroking his long, white beard, he chuckled.

"We might be in the middle of a muggle street, Minerva, but there isn't quite a need for that kind of disguise." He nodded his head sagely, a wise action reflected by the dignified purple robes he wore.

The cat next to him morphed into a tall woman, built like a scarecrow, her lips tapering downwards in a perpetual frown. She, too, was clad in a robe, this time emerald. "I came as soon as I heard. Albus, are the rumours true? Are the Potters dead?"

Albus sighed, his eyes misting over. To Minerva McGonagall, it was if the war had caused the Headmaster to age faster than he should have. He had never looked frailer than he did now, staring desolately at the ground. The kindest man she had ever known, forced to bear the burden of two wars, back-to-back.

"Indeed, Minerva. Too many, far too many, have been lost in this war. So many of the brightest minds and fullest hearts of our generation." His elderly voice spoke in a soft, sombre tone.

Whatever Minerva was about to say was interrupted by the throttle of a motorcycle, descending from above. Riding it was the half-giant Hagrid, tearing through the sky in an obvious show of inexperience of riding the vehicle. It reared up, as if almost taking a deep breath preparing for the crash that was ahead, and he finally slammed it down on the ground, grinding it to a halt before both the stunned Albus and Minerva. Hagrid dismounted the vehicle, which ground underneath his weight pressing down on it before popping back up, the suspension working overtime. Somberly, Hagrid passed the bundle in his arms to Albus. Albus mournfully accepted it into his arms, unfurling the blanket and exposing the face of a wide-eyed baby with a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. This baby was the sign of the turn of the war. It was something Albus had been awaiting with eagerness, and yet, now that he received it, he could feel nothing but regret.

"Is that where…?" Whispered Minerva.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"How could he have survived? After all he's done, the people he's killed, and he couldn't kill a little boy? It's astounding, of all the things to stop him… How on earth did this child survive?"

"We can only guess, Minerva. We may never know. The war is far from over, but for now, Voldemort has been struck down." Announced Albus solemnly. What would have once been considered a triumph was now something he wished did not have to pass.

"And what of the babe, Albus? What becomes of him? He is the saviour of the magical world, and you send him to live with muggles?" Beside him, Minerva questioned.

"Normally, Dumbledore, I'm fine with muggles, but even these ones are…" Hagrid trailed off, unsure of what to label the last direct living relatives of the Potter child.

"Unfortunately, it's our only hope." Albus made his way up the small road path of Number 4 Privet Drive. So this was to be where little Harry Potter would live for the rest of his childhood. Knocking on the door, he cooed at the small child in his arms one last time. It wouldn't be a bad life, having to grow up away from the magical world.

The door slammed open violently, and a rather corpulent man, Vernon Dursley, if Albus was correct, stepped forward slightly, his face red with rage. When he saw the gathered ensemble in front of him, his round face contorted even further into what could only be described as a rather angry frown. "Fucking freaks, who in the hell invited you onto my property!" His voice boomed out into the street, Vernon having no consideration towards his neighbours.

Albus blinked once. While he was aware Lily's extended family weren't welcoming of the magical world, he had no idea how to respond to such a foul outburst.

"Get the fuck off our doorstep, and get out of our lives. Either that, or I call the blooming cops!" And with that, Vernon Dursley slammed the door shut with a loud bang. It looked as though Harry's fate did not belong to the Dursleys after all.

Around the neighbourhood lights started illuminating windows. There was no time to dawdle in front of the Dursleys' house, and so, the entourage of two professors, one half-giant, and a tiny baby made haste to vanish as quickly as possible.

* * *

Sirius Black had finally cornered the little traitorous rat. He had found Peter at a bar, happily drinking his bottle of gin, or whiskey, or whatever that filth preferred for his drink. Once, Sirius had known this, but now all he cared about was avenging his deceased friends. He slung him down into the road, drawing attention from the passing muggles around him.

"Please, Sirius, he found my hiding spot and forced it out of me! You have to believe me, please!" The subhuman filth begged for his life, grovelling on the ground before Sirius.

"Remus would have died for you." Sirius began softly, his anger bursting at the seams. "Lily would have died for you." Sirius flicked his wand, sending red bursts of lightning out of his wand. "James would have died. For. You!" Sirius' wand sent an arc of lightning right in front of Peter, carving a deep hole into the ground. Peter flinched back, afraid of the unhinged man in front of him.

"Sirius, they were my friends too-"

"Then you should have died for them! Like any friend would do!" Sirius barked at Peter.

"Sirius, please… There are muggles around, the statute of secrecy…" As Peter begged for his life, he grabbed the spare knife he always kept in his boot, and mentally prepared himself for what he had to do. "Let's do this somewhere else, talk this out."

Peter let out a gasp of pain, and started to transform. Sirius was no fool, however, and didn't hesitate, sending an overpowered bombarding charm straight into his chest. The charm struck true, and Sirius was blinded by the backlash of such an emotionally-driven charm momentarily. When he regained his vision, Peter was gone. All that remained of him was a singular finger. Around Sirius was blood and chunks of human, but whether it was from Peter, or the exploded muggles around him, Sirius didn't know. All he knew was that he had fulfilled his first promise to the Potters. Never again would he disappoint them. And Sirius began to laugh, laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, laugh over the sounds of the city, laugh over the sounds of the screams of terror. All Sirius could do was laugh.

* * *

The next room that Harry Potter was introduced to was the Headmaster's office. A long rectangular desk occupied the middle of the room, flanked by two curved staircases leading up to a second floor. On the left, a myriad of silver instruments occupied the wall, and on the right, there were bookshelves housing the Headmaster's most treasured texts, along with the portraits of previous Headmasters of Hogwarts. It was with one of these portraits that Albus found himself consulting with one Phineas Nigellus Black.

"Now Dumbledore, you really become too much. First you offer him up to his _muggle_ relatives, and what they toss him to the side, like muggles are wont to do, you decide to raise him up yourself? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous." Phineas scornfully scolded his successor.

"Be that as it may, Phineas, but Harry is safest here. With me. I can think of no other place for him. His parents, dead, his Godfather, about to be sentenced to Azkaban."

"My descendant? Sirius? Dumbledore, how could you even let the ministry take him into custody?"

"I have tried to free him, Phineas, but the evidence against him is damning. The ministry doesn't want to let this case go, and they want to just hurriedly sweep everything under the rug fast and easy. I will defend him at his trial, but I think we must prepare ourselves for the worst."

Phineas leered at him through the portrait, "This is all your doing, Dumbledore. Just remember that. If this is how my line ends, through your foolish notions of the _greater _good, never again shall I help any Headmaster of Hogwarts. I wash my hands off your absurd behaviour." And with that, Phineas went off to another portrait of the school, and Albus hadn't had the heart to call him back.

Albus sat heavily in his chair. Today had not been good. While the disappearance of Voldemort was something rejoiced at by the magical community, there had been too many losses that day. The Longbottoms, hospitalised in St Mungo's. The Potters, dead. Only their children remained. Perhaps he was too old to continue on like this. Too much had been lost in this war. As someone who spearheaded the resistance movement against two Dark Lords, he had been stretched too far. He had no doubt in his mind that this was not the end, however. Albus was sure that Voldemort would rise again, more powerful than ever. It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when. More lives would have to be thrown into the fire. How much had he sacrificed for the greater good? How much had he sacrificed to provide for the future of everyone? It made Albus feel so tired.

Looking at the baby on his desk, however, Albus made his choice. He had failed the Potters once before. He would not fail them again. And so it was, that Albus Dumbledore would raise Harry Potter to succeed him, considered the greatest wizard of their age. He would raise him to the best of his ability. To be determined, hardworking and confident. Most important of all, to be kind. He had no doubt he would make mistakes along the way. After all, this was the first time Albus had ever attempted to raise a child. Yet, Albus feared no challenges he would face. That was what he excelled in.

* * *

**Hi, this is my attempt at writing a story. It'll be a retelling of Harry Potter, from the very start. My goal is to create a story that makes sense even to those who don't read Harry Potter, which is idiotic but look where we are. Ultimately, I'm going to make this a Harry/Fleur fic, which I know will turn people off so I'm warning anyone now so they don't get invested and waste their time trying to decipher my shitty writing. Bless, and thanks for giving this story a chance!**


	2. Chapter 2

Just like that, the war was over. A collective sigh of relief was exhaled from magical Britain. The leader of the dark forces, the Dark Lord Voldemort had vanished overnight. Rumour had it that Voldemort himself had attacked the last surviving members of the Potter household, and had attempted to slaughter the defenceless Potter child in his crib. However, the curse rebounded, killing the Dark Lord where he stood. The once mighty Voldemort had been vanquished by a child. His army, named Death Eaters by the media, was all but finished. The public fought back with a vengeance. Those too timid to once fight boldly threw themselves in defence of their friends and family. Death Eaters were rounded up left and right, sent to dwell in prison for the rest of their life. The only place a Death Eater was headed to was Azkaban, a sentence that was worse than death. There were those that managed to escape, however, claiming that they had been under the control of the Dark Lord. It certainly helped that they were also the most affluent among their peers. However, there were those that bunkered down, not willing to give up. These Death Eaters had neither the money nor connections to get out of their lifelong sentence, and saw fit to cause as much chaos as they could. Death before dishonour.

It was why Albus found himself currently waiting outside a decrepit old building. Inside housed Death Eaters that had killed numerous muggles and wizards alike, carving a path of destruction in their wake before running off into hiding. This group of Death Eaters was special, however. In their midst, there was one Antonin Dolohov. One in the inner circle of Voldemort. Powerful, ruthless, and sadistic in his methods, those who stood against him stood no chance. The magical enforcement, Aurors, had finally managed to corner them in the building before Albus. They had engaged him before, but Antonin had defeated them numerous times, always leading to heavy casualties. Albus had himself chosen to aid the Aurors in their fight, bringing along with him a few trusted allies. At the go-ahead, a strike team of six Aurors would move in through the front door, bringing it down as fast as caution would allow them. They would bear the brunt of the attack, two of them shielding any attempts to kill the group while the other four worked on tearing down the wards erected by the Death Eaters. Other assembled Aurors would provide covering fire from the front, drawing more hostile attention. However, this was not the main plan of attack. This was merely a distraction. In the meantime, Albus and his allies would sneak in through the back. A rather safe plan, if conventional. Albus had no qualms against it.

A red flare burst out from the front side of the building. _The go-ahead_. The Aurors worked fast on the other side, and already, explosions and bursts of light were seen from the front of the house. Albus waited momentarily, double-checking that his invisibility charm was properly in place. Then, he began sneaking forward, his allies no doubt following behind him. The strike team had finished dealing with the majority of the wards, but there were still a few left, so Albus decided to help them out. Quickly, he felt for the weave of magic thrumming throughout the house. Reaching out, he grasped it as tightly, and with a flex of his hand, the wards shattered. They were through. Opening the door, he was met with a shabby girl, distracted by the sounds of conflict on the other side. The shabby girl turned around, his hand shakily fumbling for her wand. With a wave of his wand, however, Albus quickly put a stop to that. The wall next to him shook, and ropes of concrete shot out, enveloping the girl where she stood. The ropes tightened, and the girl slammed against the wall, unconscious. Around him, his allies started storming through the house, clearing the way for Albus. Nodding, he decided to go upstairs, trusting his friends to take care of whoever was on the first. It was time to go meet one of his former students.

Making a steady walk upstairs, Albus heard the gruff yells of Antonin, commanding his men to strike the Aurors down. That simply would not do. A thrust of his wand made short work of the door, blasting it open. Antonin whipped around, wand at the ready. A flurry of spells flew out of his trigger-happy wand, slamming into the stone wall that Albus had already summoned from the ground. Antonin paused, waiting for the dust to settle to see if he got whoever came through the door. Albus transfigured the stone wall into two living, breathing lions, meeting his opponent face to face.

"You!" Antonin's face paled, seeing the living legend in front of him.

"Yes, Mr. Dolohov. Me." The lions pounced forward, and Antonin shielded himself, but he was not their target. Down went the two wizards behind Antonin, too busy dealing with the Aurors to divert their attention to Albus. Cursing, Antonin sent two curses at the lions, splattering them to pieces, before focusing his attention on his previous Headmaster. A tense moment was shared between the two, and then he struck, cutting violently through the air with his wand hand, sending wave after wave of inky-black jets of curses at him. No doubt, they were meant to cause grievous, if not fatal injuries. Albus countered by a flick of his wand. A bright white shield burst forth, stunning Antonin, the black curses splattering harmlessly against the shield. Albus worked quickly, transfiguring the ground around Antonin into thick vines that shot towards him. Antonin cursed, sending wave after wave of fire to incinerate the vines. So distracted was he, however, that he failed to notice the shadows sneaking up behind him. By the time they struck, it was too late. The lions that had been slowly reforming over the course of their fight sank their teeth into his arms, causing Antonin to wince as their razor-sharp incisors sliced through his forearm muscles. Struggling, he sent a weak curse that carved through the face of foul beasts. It wasn't the lions he should have been worried about, though, as he forgot about his opponent in front of him. Albus sent a stunner that caused Antonin's world to go black.

* * *

Harry, now seven years old, sat down in front of Gnobly. Harry had grown a lot, about average height for someone his age. He had scraggy hair that covered the scar he had been marked by birth with, a lightning bolt. It had never faded, though scars usually heal over time. There was something preventing it from healing naturally or magically. Despite this, Harry wasn't the strangest of the two individuals in the room. Gnobly was a short, about three feet tall, house-elf. This wasn't to say that Gnobly was a small house-elf. No, in fact, he had usually towered over his kind, being larger than the average for his species. Gnobly was a large knife-eared individual with a small whispy beard on his face. His arms were thin, but defined, from all the hard work that he'd put into the small cottage that Harry lived in. While house-elves had the ability to perform everyday household tasks through their own special kind of magic, Gnobly was strange in that he liked to complete his chores by hand. It was something that he had instilled into Harry, who had no qualms with physical work.

In the middle, there was a bowl, filled with dough that both Gnobly and Harry were kneading, together. Harry enjoyed all the lessons that Gnobly taught him, but if he had to ultimately decide what brought him the most joy, it would be the cooking. In some strange sort of way, cooking was a little like magic. Magic required the utmost focus and willpower in order to turn something to another thing. At least, that was what little Harry's grasp of the magic that he had been practising was.

"Now, we've added all the ingredients, see how the dough turns tough? Yes, that means it's ready. Come, let us place the dough on the tray."

Gnobly brought out a metal tray, with some baking parchment placed upon it. Gnobly and Harry dropped scoops of dough, slowly shaping them into circles.

"Now, we wait." Gnobly told him as they placed the tray gingerly into the oven.

"How long do we have to wait?" Whined young Harry.

"Now, child, waiting isn't necessarily bad." Said Gnobly. "Waiting just means you have time to do something else."

"Really? What are we going to do?"

"Nothing, child."

"But you said waiting means you have to do something else!"

"And sometimes," Gnobly continued, making sure he had Harry's attention. His large light blue eyes made contact with Harry's emerald ones. "That something else means nothing else. Doing nothing isn't wrong, Harry. Sometimes waiting is doing something."

"Huh." Harry mumbled. He didn't quite get it. Sometimes, Harry didn't get what Gnobly was trying to say, but he still enjoyed how wise and sage he sounded. In a way, it reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "So… we're just gonna watch the cookies bake?"

"Yes, child. Sometimes the only thing you can do is watch. Rushing things won't help."

"What happens if we rush the cookies?"

"They'll come out runny, or if we turn up the heat, they'll come out too crispy. We're looking to make the perfect cookies, aren't we Harry?"

"Yes! The perfect cookies!" Harry said, undeterred by the life lesson that Gnobly had given to him.

_Ding_!

"It's done, it's done!"

"And not a moment too soon, child. I believe someone is here to see you."

Harry turned around, to be greeted with the sight of Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Hello, my dear boy."

"Sir, you're here!"

"Of course, how else would I be able to taste my favourite cook's cookies?" He spread his arms open, and Harry immediately leapt into his arms. Dumbledore gripped him tightly, giving Harry three solid pats on the back. He had just gotten back from a situation at the Ministry. But nothing would have prevented him from spending time with his adopted son.

"Here, Dumbledore. Take one." Gnobly said, already having collected the cookies from the oven and placed them into a container. Dumbledore grabbed one, looking at it, frowning. He took a cautious nibble. Sighing, he knelt down, looking Harry dead in the eye. His eyes didn't betray him in the slightest, cold, hard.

"Harry…" He began. Harry stared at him with wide eyes. "It tastes great." His disapproving face instantly lightened, and somehow, though he never showed his teeth, his smile warmed the room. A bright twinkle was in his eye, and somehow, though he spoke no more words after that, Harry knew he was proud of him.

Harry would remember this moment for as long as he lived.

* * *

"Focus, Harry." Dumbledore ordered. With a wave of the wand in his hand, a tremor shook the floor before violently splitting open, erupting violently with lava. Harry, no older than eleven, dove to the side and tucked himself into a small roll, getting back on his feet in an instant. A movement that was far faster than a ten-year-old could perform, yet the boy shot up, firing off two red orbs of light with a shout as he sprinted to the side, taking full advantage of the mobility he had over the old man. The old man watched the orbs zoom towards him, before flicking his wand, a wall of stone sliding out of the ground. The two orbs fizzled uselessly against the wall. Harry, however, ran straight at it, undeterred, a bolt of yellow shooting out of his wand, blasting the wall open. Leaping through the fresh hole brought him to a sudden stop, as the old man sent him flying back, a streak of white slamming into his chest.

Harry slowly got up, shrugging off the pain with a grimace on his face. He was greeted with the sight of twinkling blue eyes above a massive beard surrounding a gentle smile. 'You know, I don't particularly like you seeing sprawled on the ground, my boy.' The old man offered Harry his hand. He took it, feeling the firm, but comforting, grip of his mentor as he was helped to his feet.

"Then why do you send me there every time?" Harry grumbled. Dumbledore chuckled in response.

"Alas, my dear boy, it's not what I want that drives me, but what is needed."

Harry nodded, his shaggy hair falling over his emerald eyes. He had been trained for all his life for one purpose. The defeat of the dark lord, Voldemort. The lightning shaped scar on his forehead burned, a constant reminder of what Voldemort took from him that fateful night. Six years ago, Voldemort had killed his mother and father in their own home. However, his own curse rebounded, killing him instantly. Or so the Ministry of Magic said. Dumbledore believed that Voldemort had survived, a shade of his former self, but survived all the same. It was because of this he had taken Harry, moulded him into a warrior. Harry himself had no qualms with that. The magical world had coined him the boy who lived, the only one to ever survive the killing curse. Harry knew this wasn't true. No child could just shrug off the killing curse, when the masters of old had all failed. No, something else had happened that night, and no one knew.

Now ten, Harry was a year away from starting his formal education in Hogwarts. His motivation never ceased, always hoping to become the best person he could be. He owed Dumbledore that much. His eyes moved over to the wizened old man. Standing in front of him was possibly the greatest wizard in modern England. His sheer magical power alone could hold him in a duel against the most skilled duellists in the world, but his expertise and mastery of the wand was set him far, far apart.

"Now, off to breakfast with you. It's always good to eat and get some food in your stomach before the day officially starts." Harry ran off, his stomach grumbling in protest.

This was how his life had always been, ever since he had been old enough to carry a wand. Before that, his time was spent with his face shoved into a pile of books about the theory of magic. However, while Harry's concentration failed him, his innate skill in magic more than made up for it. From young, Harry had been able to pick up magic with less difficulty than most. While he only had a few spells up his sleeve, Harry was always eager to learn more. He just preferred a more practical way of teaching it.

Sitting down at the table, Harry grabbed his fork and spoon with his hands. His plate was served to him by Gnobley. It contained a sizzling sunny-side up egg, some bacon, and a croissant. Instantly, Harry knew something was up. This food was way too unhealthy for Dumbledore to even approve serving him. Just as the thought passed through his head, the old wizard himself strolled in, carrying something behind his back, a twinkle in his eye and a devious smile. Harry was stunned. While Dumbledore didn't neglect him, rarely ever would Dumbledore stay for breakfast, as he had to attend to his Headmasterly duties.

"Harry, my dear boy. Congratulations." Dumbledore revealed what he had been carrying behind his back, a letter which he gingerly passed to Harry.

Carefully opening it, Harry peeled back the opening flap, and dragged the apparently important document inside out. He unfurled the letter, and let it drop to the side of his plate. On the letter, it stated,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry put the letter down. The words were ringing in his head. A place at Hogwarts. Which meant-

"Happy birthday, my dear boy." Dumbledore smiled kindly at him. Grinning, Harry tackled him into a hug, squeezing the old man tightly. "I thought the letter might be better delivered by this old man rather than one of the numerous birds available to us in Hogwarts. Less effort for the owls."

"Thank you!" Whooping internally, Harry sat back in his chair and started scarfing down the delectable breakfast. Compared to the usual assortment of bread and fruits, the taste of bacon sizzled against his tongue, searing their way into his tastebuds.

"After this, Hagrid will take you to Diagon Alley to purchase the supplies you need for the fiscal year ahead." Hearing this, Harry's mood saddened slightly, but he nodded all the same. His adopted father had no time to bring him on his first trip to get his supplies, he had other things to attend to. Harry wouldn't let that put a damper on his mood though, he was finally getting his wand and familiar today.

* * *

"Come along, come along." Said the half-giant to the small wizard. At 4'7", Harry was a little bit on the small side. Yet, the man beside him, Hagrid, absolutely dwarfed him. This came in handy for warding off the massive crowd that beset them on either side. Harry had never gone out before, so he was enamoured with the brick-based buildings, while Hagrid shoved the crowd aside, creating a parting in the sea of people. The positive unintended consequence of Harry being a shut-in meant that he wasn't an object of interest for the crowd, as someone who was the son of a wizard of great renown like Albus Dumbledore might be. Bystanders shoved their way past, in a hurry to get out of the swarm in the streets.

Their first stop was to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, home to the goblins who controlled the finances of the wizarding world. A towering white corner building flanked by two Grecian pillars, with a large gold plank that contained the name of the establishment. Inside, lay a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Gulping, Harry stuck close to Hagrid, the half-giant a comforting presence in the unfamiliar area. Dumbledore had never saw fit to bring him to Gringotts, instead just waving it off as 'boring times for boring people'. As the only bank their world had, Gringotts won out through their competitive prices, interest rates, and once they had the majority of wizarding gold in their coffers, the massive monopoly that they held over all. Numerous attempts had tried to upheave the goblin monopoly, to no avail. For banking, however, these goblins were the finest available, upholding the pristine standards of their company. It was why Harry found himself in front of a very tall counter with a goblin behind it. This goblin was squinting at its book through a rather thick pair of spectacles, writing information down periodically once its contemplative silence had ended. Hagrid cleared his throat, and the goblin lowered its glasses down to look at him.

"I'm here to open up this kids vault." Hagrid said. At that, the goblin didn't move, clearly awaiting a name. Hagrid leaned in conspiratorially, and said in a rather loud whisper, "You know, the Potter's kid."

The goblin raised an eyebrow, and sharply questioned Hagrid. "Do you have a key?"

Hagrid started unscrupulously emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy old biscuits over the goblin's book. The goblin wrinkled his nose, his lips turning into an upturned snarl. "Got it," Hagrid finally said. Nodding, Hagrid dropped an ornate gold key into the open palm of the goblin. "I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," he continued, "It's about the thing in vault seven-hundred and thirteen."

The goblin made sure to read the letter carefully, his eyes flicking to Hagrid every once in a while.

"Right this way." That said, the goblin hopped down. For someone who was working at such a tall desk, the goblin was an entire head shorter than Harry. The goblin led them both through a rather tight corridor, Hagrid bumbling and bumping into cabinets along the way. The trio ended up in front of a door emblazoned in gold letters with the name 'Griphook'.

"He'll be with you shortly." Harry tried to peer through the frosted glass window that made up the upper half of the door, but the glass was too thick and so his young curiosity remained unsated. Thankfully though, it was not for long, as a goblin in a classy three-piece suit wandered out of his office, which Harry saw was tidy and organised for the heaping amounts of paper that lay within. Compared to the goblin that had led them here, Griphook had larger ears and slicked-back black hair. Next to Griphook, Harry felt quite underdressed, having only a casual black t-shirt and beige jeans on. The two goblins shared a short conversation, and then the goblin with the thick glasses departed, walking speedily back the way they came. Griphook however, walked further into the building, leading them to an elevator. Taking the rickety elevator down, the doors parted, revealing a large chasm, a spiderweb of mine tracks spread throughout it. In front of them was a lone minecart. The minecart walls looked barely high enough for a human being to be safely secure, evidently being fashioned for goblin heights. Harry gave the minecart a quick once-over. This looked unsafe. Griphook walked in, looking completely at home. Harry slowly clambered into the minecart, his heart in his throat, but he had no choice. It was as if the goblin sensed his reluctance, as he was met with a mischievous look and a sharp-toothed grin. And then Griphook pulled the lever.

Harry felt his stomach drop as the minecart immediately sped up, accelerating at an impossible rate. The minecart led them through many steep drops, sharp curves and sudden uphill tracks. His eyes stung as the wind screamed against his face. Along the way, Harry saw dead ends illuminated by luminous yellow safety barriers. He prayed to whatever god out there that the track they were on wouldn't end like that. Screeching to a halt, the cart stopped in front of a small pocket of a cavern in the cliff wall. Harry disembarked. The world felt like it was shifting under him. Harry was used to moving at high speeds. He didn't get motion sick but if there was one vehicle that could do it, that was it. In the middle of the cavern wall, there was a black ornate door. Engraved in it were swirling patterns of shimmering gold, converging in the centre where there was a keyhole. Griphook trotted over, as right as rain and inserted his vault door key. Harry rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The intricate gold engravings swirled in front of his eyes, slowly vanishing into the crevices around the door. Even to this day, magic astounded him with what it could do. With a creak, the door opened.

Inside was piles upon piles of gold Galleons. Harry's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. While he knew his parents had no difficulties in the monetary aspect of their life, he didn't know they had this much stored away. There was a small collection of bronze coins, Knuts, and silver, sickle, next to them.

Hagrid stumbled over, his face quite green. Every step from him seemed to rattle the coins around the trio, even heavier than usual. "That'll be all yours, then. This is your trust vault, that your parents entrusted to you. It should be enough for the rest of your year, and it'll get refilled every year." He helped Harry pile some of the gold into a bag. Harry insisted to carry it, not wanting to burden Hagrid. It was heavy though. With a heave, he slung it over his shoulder. "Vault seven-hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?" Hagrid continued.

The goblin shook his head in negative, his lips pressed together in what seemed to be a smirk. "One speed only."

Reluctantly, Harry and Hagrid both carefully maneuvered their way back onto the death-cart. The goblin seemed to take even deeper pleasure in pulling the lever this time. They went even further into the cavern, gathering even more speed. Whatever speed the goblin's 'one speed' was, it seemed to be speeding up exponentially.

Unlike his vault, vault seven-hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook sternly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers, as if stroking a cat, and the entire door melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there."

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" asked Harry.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook, a nasty grin adorning his face, "If you're lucky."

A single grubby little package lay in the middle of the vault, wrapped in brown paper not unlike something that food take-away would come in. It wasn't illuminated by a light or anything that one might come to expect from such a vault. For a vault so secret, it barely seemed worth it. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat, no doubt lost among the numerous snacks and trinkets that littered inside. Harry was curious as to what it was, but knew if Dumbledore didn't tell him about it, it must be secret.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back. It's better if I keep my mouth shut," said Hagrid. It was time to get back onto the rickety old death-cart.

One wild cart ride later, Harry and Hagrid stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Compared to the barely illuminated chasm of Gringotts, the outside sun seemed harsh.

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding towards the building labelled with 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions'. "Listen, Harry, would you mind if I slipped off for a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look quite green, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, while Hagrid ambled back up the street towards a dingy looking bar.

A woman, that introduced herself as Madam Malkin bustled up to him. A short, portly witch that was draped in mauve robes, she radiated a motherly vibe and she smiled gently towards Harry. He imagined that came in handy with the young students that didn't come from a magical background.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here – a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second younger witch pinned up his long black robes. He had pale platinum-blonde hair and a slightly upturned nose, giving him a somewhat snooty look. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to make the proper alterations.

"Hello," said the other boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry, "What's your name?"

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. My father's next door buying my books and mother's waiting for the completion of my wand." He had a bored, drawling voice. "I think after this I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll get my father to get me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry didn't think that was a very good idea, but he wasn't about to stop Draco.

"Have you got your own broom?" Draco continued.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," said Harry again. While he was aware of the world-beloved sport, Harry had never played it before. Dumbledore had never seen fit to include it into his education.

"I do!" Draco proudly said, his eyes shining with proud joy. "Father says I'm one of the best players he's ever seen be born in this century. It'll be a crime if I'm not picked to play for the house team, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"I'd be happy to join any house. They all have their good qualities, really." Secretly, though, Harry wanted to join Gryffindor. It was, after all, his not only his adoptive mentor's house, but his deceased parents' house as well.

"No one really thinks that, you know? A house like Slytherin is obviously going to be more powerful than something like, say, Hufflepuff. I know I'll be in Slytherin, just like my family before me. The house of the ambitious!" Draco puffed out his chest slightly, his head held impossibly higher.

Harry had half the mind to tell Draco off, but didn't. Better to let him find out for himself rather than be scolded by someone his own age.

"I say, look at that man!" said Draco suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid stood outside, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show that he couldn't come in. Harry shuddered, realising that if the ice creams looked big in Hagrid's hands, he was in for quite a treat.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, attempting to wave back at Hagrid before his arm got slapped down by Madam Malkin, giving him a very disgruntled look. Harry smiled sheepishly back at her. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," said the boy, raising an eyebrow. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper. He's bringing me around to purchase my school supplies," said Harry.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's sort of a savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed. You know how giants are."

"That's not true, Draco. Hagrid's brilliant, he's someone I've always hung out with. He's a passionate man who loves all sorts of creatures. Sometimes he brings them over. They're fun to play with." Harry said, a little annoyed at Draco, accidentally admonishing slightly.

"Really?" Said Draco, looking slightly sheepish. "Why's he with you? Where're your parents?"

"They're dead," Harry said shortly. He didn't feel like going much into the matter. Harry wasn't one for pity.

"Oh, sorry," said Draco, his brow furrowing. He sounded as though he was mustering up as much pity as a four-year-old who had no idea of the concept of death while saying a final goodbye to his goldfish because their parents told them to. "They were our kind, were they? Lost in the war?"

"They were a witch and a wizard, yes." Harry's lips pressed into a thin line. Harry knew of the divide between purebloods and muggleborns. It had been something Dumbledore had been trying to solve

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them haven't even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families." Draco sprouted off, sounding again like a child that didn't know what he was talking about but was told to by their parents.

"My mother was muggleborn." Stated Harry, unwilling to let Draco insult his parents any further. "She was one of the most brilliant witches her age. I'm proud that she's my mother, wouldn't have wanted another."

Draco looked sheepish. Again, he had offended Harry. He continued on, however. "Sorry. You're a half-blood then? What's your family name?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear." Harry hopped off the footstool, and contemplated whether he should give Draco an answer. While Harry was mad at Draco, he knew it was not his fault he had these beliefs. Harry stretched out his hand, an invitation of friendship and forgiveness. "Potter."

Draco's eyes widened, and he grabbed Harry's hand in his. "You're Harry Potter, then? Nice to see you." The seamstress next to him snatched his arm back into position, giving Draco a dirty look.

"See you at Hogwarts, Draco." And with that, Harry left the clothes shop.

"See you." Draco said in his drawling voice.

* * *

Harry was more silent than usual as he ate the ice cream that Hagrid had bought him. He savoured the chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts, feeling the cool chill of the ice cream soothe his warm body.

"What's up?" Said Hagrid.

Harry told Hagrid about the pale boy that he met at Madam Malkin's, while they stopped to buy parchment and quills. He told him about how Draco had gotten on his nerves, insulting muggleborns and magical creatures alike.

"Ah, you've met the Malfoy heir, then. Son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black." Hagrid stroked his beard, deep in thought. He picked up a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote with it. He gave it a little shake, watching as the pure black ink swirled with streaks of rainbow hue. The shopkeeper noticed this, and snatched the bottle back, putting it back on display.

"You know, Harry…" Hagrid continued. "I know he can be a handful, but Dumbledore's always taught me that you got to be at least friends with these people. You never know where yer allies might come from." Hagrid sounded as though he was speaking from experience. "Besides, you know how purebloods are like. All blood purity this, blood purity that. I wouldn't be surprised if their children take after them."

Harry said nothing to that, instead choosing to steer the conversation away from such a heavy topic. He just hoped he had made the right decision about Draco Malfoy.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones, bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps, bound in silk; books full of peculiar symbols and books with nothing in them at all. Harry opened one of them, and saw the ink-black words 'Your very own secret diary' float up. Harry put it back on the shelf.

"Now, what was it? 29 Knuts for a Sickle, and 17 Sickles to a Galleon." Hagrid recited to himself while he sorted through Harry's money. He had insisted on carrying it, waving him off. "A parent should do these things for you, but I'll do for now, eh?" He had said.

They next went to go buy Harry's cauldron, in a shop called Potage's Cauldron shop, right next to the Apothecary. Barrels of slime stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls. Above, hanging from the ceiling were all manners of gross bits of creatures, bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, snarled claws, and the occasional giant's toe or elf ear. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of basic first year potion ingredients, Harry examined the silver unicorn horns that were priced at twenty-one Galleons each. He idly wondered how unicorn horns were harvested, since no unicorn could be harmed without a curse falling upon the hunter. Maybe he would ask Hagrid later, or Dumbledore.

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid stopped Harry. "Hold on, I haven't got you a birthday present."

Harry felt himself go red. "Hagrid, you're already taking your time and spending it with me. You don't have to-"

"I know I don't have to. Tell you what, I'll get you an animal. An owl. Owls are dead useful, you can deliver yer mail and everything."

Hagrid dragged Harry to Eeylops Owl Emporium, Harry protesting the entire way. Once Harry was inside, though, he was fascinated with the numerous owls that lined the walls, each in their own ornate cages. None of them really caught his eye, though, except one particular snowy owl that stared at him with her sharp amber eyes. There was a hint of intelligence behind those eyes, Harry decided. He had seen such intellect before, in the eyes of his adopted father.

"That's a good one, Harry." Hagrid harrumphed, catching his shared gaze. "Tell you what, I'll name 'er for yer. She'll be called Hedwig."

* * *

Now came the best part that Harry was most interested in. It was time to get his wand. He had been using a practise wand the entire time, and while he had no disillusions that his own wand would allow him to finally match his mentor in power, he was excited to get one that he could call his own.

They stopped outside a black shop at the end of a small alleyway. Peeling gold letters over the door read 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.'. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. It looked like quite a shabby shop, but Harry knew better. Ollivander was one of the foremost experts in wand-making, an artisan at his craft. The door creaked open, evidence that the hinges needed more oil. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside.

It was a tiny, claustrophobic place, empty except for a display case and a single, spindly chair that Hagrid immediately plopped himself down on, waiting. The chair creaked under his weight. Shelves lined the wall behind the display case, carrying thousands of long cases, each housing a pre-made wand. A door led through to the back, and from what Harry could see through the partially open door, rows upon rows of shelves stretched out as far as the eye could see. A man stood behind the display case, lowering his thick glasses. His wide, pale eyes stared intensely at Harry.

"Curious, indeed. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inch long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. One of the pre-made ones."

Ollivander, presumably, moved closer to Harry. His eyes never seemed to blink, not only looking at him, but through him. Harry felt like the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches, pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – The wand chooses the wizard, of course."

Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Your adoptive father, yes, yes. Ebony, fourteen inches. Most excellent for transfiguration as well, but also combat. The things he has done with that wand, stunning, yes. My grandfather made that wand, and he knew what kind of greatness that wand was destined for."

Ollivander's arm snapped out suddenly, moving with incredible speed, contrary to what his frail looking body might convey. His dry, spindly fingers gingerly brushed against the lightning shaped scar on Harry's forehead, caressing it.

"So this is where…" He traced the scar slowly, sending shivers down Harry's spine. "I'm sorry to say I made the wand that did it," he said, softly. "Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…"

He shook his head despondently. Retracting his hand, he spun around, attending to the other person in his shop. "Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Ollivander, suddenly stern. "Waste of a good wand, indeed. Terrible people, snapping one of my creations. Akin to murder."

"Er- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, looking down at his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," Hagrid said quickly, gripping his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke. Harry thought his knuckles might pop off if his hand tightened any further.

Ollivander gave Hagrid a piercing look. "If they ever lift that ban on you, you know where to come to get it remade." Turning back, Ollivander pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Would you like a custom wand? Which is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?"

"No, and my right." Said Harry, holding out his arm for measurement.

Ollivander measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and around his head. As he measured, he said, "Every wand of quality has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. I use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. Every wand should be made from scratch, perfectly suited to the wizard. Or rather, I should say, the wizard is suited to the wand. While it is wise to get a placeholder wand for now, it is a shame muggleborns usually do not purchase custom wands, whether it be lack of money or stubbornness."

"Yes, but I have nothing to note for it. When I do something of worth; then I shall make my wand." Harry said, determined. His would not be a wasted life.

Ollivander nodded his head in tacit approval. He took off, flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. The tape measure continued its job on its own, measuring the width of each of his nostrils.

"That will do," He said, and the tape measure neatly rolled itself back up and floated back onto the desk. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.

Harry took the wand, but he instantly knew it was not his. The grip fit all wrong in his hand. Ollivander could tell as well, which is why he hastily replaced it with another.

"Maple and phoenix feather, seven inches. Quite whippy. Try-"

As Ollivander said that, the wand emitted some lightning, though Harry had not cast anything.

"No, no, that isn't good either. Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight-and-a-half inches, springy."

The wand promptly burst into flames.

"Oh god, sorry, I didn't mean to-" Harry began, but was stopped by Ollivander's raised hand.

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. This is a result of your magical core, very well developed for one such your age. Not to worry we'll find the perfect match here somewhere."

Harry tried more, and more wands. While none had burst into flames quite like that one, none of them felt like they fit him well. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher, all scattered back to their place on the shelves. The pile of untired wands on the shelf was steadily decreasing, until all but one remained.

"If none of the premade wands are to your liking, you will have to make a wand. I hope you understand. While I was rather reluctant to try this… Here. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand from Ollivander's outstretched hand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers, and his magical core screamed in jubilation. Together, their magic intertwined, singing a triumphant song. He raised the wand, and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped from his spot on the chair, and Ollivander cried, "Oh, it's magnificent! Very good, but very curious all the same."

Harry held onto the wand, revelling in the feeling. "Sorry, Mr. Ollivander," he began, "But what's curious?"

Ollivander focused on Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, you might know of it. Its name is Fawkes." Harry's ears perked up, recognising the name of his mentor's familiar. "And it gave another feather. Just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother- why, its brother gave you that scar."

Suddenly, Harry's wand felt a lot colder in his hand. There was a certain weight to it now. This was the brother of the wand that killed his parents.

"Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible, yes, but great."

Harry nodded, his mouth dryer than before. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and four for a brown leather wand holster that could be either mounted on his waist or the underside of his arm. Though he tried to offer more for the broken wand. Refusing, Ollivander told him, "Only seven Galleons. No more, no less." And so they departed, Harry and his wand by his side.

**I'll be having exams this week, so I won't be able to write. I've got a few chapters saved up but the more I use those the less I'll be able to update frequently in the future.**


	3. Chapter 3

Harry arrived at King's Cross station, freshly early in the morning. He had been almost too excited to sleep. When he had awoken, he had been given a fresh breakfast of toast and jam by Gnobly, hungrily wolfing it down. He had already packed the night before, and so his journey would be as easy as reaching the station on time. As far as that was concerned, however, that was already done, because Harry had woken up an hour before his earliest alarm even rang. The hard part was separating Gnobly from his person, because Gnobly refused to let him go, crying about how his young master was finally leaving the nest. As usual, Dumbledore wasn't present.

Dumbledore actually hadn't seen him since his birthday. Harry didn't mind so much. He knew Dumbledore had his Headmasterly duties to attend to, especially at the start of the school year. It was because of this that he found himself standing in between platform nine and platform ten, confused as to what to do. While he was aware that platform nine and three-quarters existed, Harry wasn't sure exactly where it was. Nobody saw fit to tell him. So Harry spent the better part of the hour wandering around, stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift without his magic, and a large owl. If he didn't look strange enough, he certainly felt it. The confused stares of those walking past didn't help.

And then he saw them, his saviours. A plump, matronly woman with fiery red hair. She was also surrounded by her children, all with a brighter ginger coloured hair. Each of them were pushing a trunk like Harry's, and with them, they had an owl. He certainly knew who they were. The Weasleys, a wizarding family considered by most as 'blood traitors'. Friends of Dumbledore, though he had never met them personally. Pushing his cart, Harry pulled up near them. They stopped just by barrier that separated the two platforms.

The mother Weasley pointed at her children, "Percy, you go first, followed by Fred, followed by George, and then Ron. Come along, come quickly now. We don't want to get locked out."

"I'm not Fred, I'm George." Said one of the boys, an identical looking brother beside him. Percy ran through the barrier, the barrier seemingly warping around him as he ran through. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred." And off Fred went, followed quickly by George.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the mother Weasley.

"Hello, dear," she said, giving him a kind smile. "First time at Hogwarts? Where are your parents? Ron's new, too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles that matched his hair, big hands and feet, and a long nose. His clothes didn't fit him too shabbily but it was obvious they were hand-me-downs. Next to him, a young girl stood. She gave him a charming smile, the freckles on her face highlighting her pale complexion.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm just checking to see how to get onto the platform. Not really sure what it's like."

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Oh, okay. Thanks!" said Harry, and he pushed his trolley forward, shoving his way through the barrier. As he emerged on the other side, he stared at the scarlet steam engine waiting at the platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwart's Express, eleven o' clock. A wrought-iron archway was behind him, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry waited for Ron to come through, taking extra care that Ron didn't slam into his backside. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd.

"Blimey, mate. I better go find my brothers. Sorry about this, yeah? Can't believe they didn't wait up for me…" Ron muttered as he ran off, his overpacked luggage being dragged behind him. Harry noticed one of the wheels was trailing along behind him, held to the luggage by a string of dirt and dust.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform, sure that he would find emptier carriages as he went further down the line. Along the way, he noticed a round-face boy, tugging at his fierce-looking grandmother's sleeve. "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

His grandmother sighed in resignation, "Oh, Neville."

A boy with darker skin and dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd, egging him on. He lifted the lid of the box in his arms, and out shot a long hairy leg. Those closest to him shrieked in terror, Lee laughing heartily.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he reached the compartment at the very end of the train. He dragged Hedwig inside, and then stated to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. Thankfully, while it was still quite an exertion, Harry's fitness regime with Dumbledore allowed him to lift it up.

Harry sat down, enjoying the peace and quiet. Well, peace and quiet compared to outside. There was a reason he sat at the end, choosing to gather himself and calm his nerves. This was his first year at Hogwarts. If he wanted to live up to Dumbledore's name, he had to prove himself in his first year. When Dumbledore was going through his education, he was already a genius, topping his level in all subjects, getting some of the highest marks in transfiguration that Hogwarts had ever produced. He closed his eyes, ready for a long journey, when suddenly the door to his carriage slammed open. Turning around, he saw a woman with bright blue hair enter his carriage. She looked like a sixth- no, seventh year. She wasn't wearing her robes, which was a relief for Harry because he had no idea when he had to dress. Instead she was wearing a figure-hugging light blue blouse, white jean pants and casual shoes.

"Oh, I didn't know anyone was going to be in here!" She exclaimed. "Wotcher, I'm Tonks."

She plonked herself down in front of him, sticking her hand out. Harry grabbed it. Their eyes met briefly, and he swore they shifted from bright blue to green for a second. "Just Tonks. Call me anything else, and I'll hex you." Harry took that to note. "So, what brings you to my lovely end of the line?" She winked at him, her long dark lashes fluttering.

"I just wanted to find a place to sit and relax." Harry said.

"Hm, cool." Tonks blew a bubble out of her mouth, popping it when it reached a satisfactory size. Harry watched her, unsure of what to say. "Not very talkative, are you? What's your name?"

"My name's Harry, I'm a first year."

It was at this moment Tonks noticed Harry's scar. "Bloody Merlin's nipples, you're him, aren't you!" Harry quickly brushed his hair to better cover his forehead. "No, sorry, sorry. That was rude. You don't need to hide who you are."

"Sorry." Harry offered. He didn't like people pointing out his scar, the reminder of the man who had taken his parents that fateful day.

"No, it was my bad. Could I…" She trailed off, her hand twitching. Harry nodded, unsure of what she wanted to do. She stretched her hand out, gingerly tracing the lightning bolt. Harry froze under her hand, her fingers sending goosebumps where skin came into contact with more skin. Noticing Harry was looking quite awkward, Tonks smiled sheepishly, turning her fingers to pat his head three times quite comfortingly. "Thanks, Harry. Does it hurt when I do that?"

The train started rumbling, pulling out of the station. Harry shook his head no. "So… How old are you, Tonks?"

"I'm a seventh year. My final year here at Hogwarts, I'll have you know!" Tonks puffed her chest out proudly. Her hair flashed bright yellow, though she didn't seem to notice her sudden hair change.

"Your hair!" Harry exclaimed. Tonks quickly looked up, cursed, and ran her hands through her hair, turning it back to blue. "You're a metamorphmagus!"

Metamorphagus were rare. Essentially, what they could do was change their appearance through their emotions alone. While an untrained individual has their emotions dictate their appearance, a skilled metamorphmagus would be able to conceal their identity to everyone around them. So impeccable were their abilities that even spells that dealt in the nature of detection couldn't reveal their true identity. It was because of this that they might choose to go into espionage work, as their skills were extremely useful in that aspect.

"Impressive knowledge for an ickle first year, Harry." She flicked his nose, shaking the glasses that sat upon them. "Then again, should be expected."

"What's it like being one? Is it useful?" Harry asked, excited. He had never met a metamorphmagus before.

"It's not all that cracked up to be, let's say." Tonks' expression darkened somewhat. But noticing Harry's slightly sad look, she perked up. "But at least it lets me do cool things like this!" As she said that, her nose morphed into a pig's nose, and she snorted heavily.

Harry laughed, a laugh that was soon shared by Tonks. Her laugh was a boisterous, healthy chortle. Harry found it refreshing.

"So, Tonks," Harry continued once they stopped sharing a laugh. "What should I expect from my first year at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, first year's always _boring_." Tonks said, stretching the word out. "You don't learn anything and everyone's so awkward around each other. Not fun, I'll tell you that."

Harry frowned. "What are the things I'm going to learn?"

"Well, you've got your main subjects, like… Uh, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Astronomy and Herbology. You can't drop those, unluckily. Could do with a lot less Astronomy in my life. And god, if Binns goes on about the history of the bloody goblin wars any longer, I swear, I'm going to…" Tonks pointed a finger gun to her head, and mock-pulled the trigger. "There are electives in the third year, but you don't need to worry about those."

"Oh, that's nice." Harry said, nodding. "I hope I learn useful things this year."

"Truth be told, it's really just the basics," Tonks said, "Just to catch up those not brought up with magic. Should be a breeze for you."

"Oh." Harry said, a little disappointed.

"Just spend the year making friends, because god knows you'll need them later. Hogwarts is a tough place without them. Everything's hard."

"I hope I find some good ones, really. I'm not really the best at socialising." Harry admitted. Though he had spent plenty of time among adults, such as the Hogwarts staff, he hadn't really interacted much with kids his own age.

"You'll get there in the end. So, what house do you want to get into? Hufflepuff's my house, the house for the loyal." Tonks smiled roguishly. "Or would you something flashier, like Gryffindor, the house for the brave!" At this, she flexed her arm, mockingly showing off her slender arm that, while defined, was not overly muscular. "Or Ravenclaw, if you're smart enough for that."

Harry waited for her to finish, but Tonks didn't go any further. "What about Slytherin? Isn't that also a house?"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't want to go into there, I think. Your parents were Gryffindors, even Headmaster Dumbledore is a Gryffindor. There's been a really big rivalry between them and Slytherin for a while now. Plus, You-Know-Who's from Slytherin. I'd have thought you wouldn't want anything to do with him."

"I'm fine with anything, really. Gryffindor's pretty nice." He admitted to himself.

"Good on you, Harry. But you know, if you get into Hufflepuff I can always show you the ropes." She winked at him. "I can even show you where the kitchens are… Right next to our common room, you know?"

Harry and Tonks shared a good laugh, her hair turning a nice shade of yellow. "I'll keep that in mind, Tonks. So, what's your last name?"

Tonks' brow furrowed, and she pouted. "My last name is Tonks."

"What's your first, then?"

Tonks' hair turned a scarlet hue of red. "I'm not telling you that. I'm just Tonks. Got it?" She said, jokingly menacing.

"Sure, sure." Harry put his hands up in defeat.

Just then, the snack cart came to their carriage. The lady behind the cart asked if they would like anything. Harry and Tonks scanned the cart for a while, which was filled with delightful goodies sure to sweeten the teeth. There were Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands, and other assortments of all kinds of treats. Hopping off, he bought a packet of Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs. Popping it open, he gave one to Tonks, who gave him her thanks, and chewed on one himself. Harry didn't know what the flavour was, but if he had to reckon, it was booger flavoured. He never got the nice flavours first.

"I got a chocolate one. Love chocolate." Tonks said, biting down on the jelly bean.

Unwrapping the chocolate frogs, he saw that he had a card on Nicolas Flamel. A pale man with a long beard and dark brown eyes waved at him from the card. The card read: Famed for his work in alchemy Nicolas Flamel is most famous for his invention of the philosopher's stone, dubbed the Magical Elixir of Life. Nicolas enjoys the opera.

Harry knew Nicolas well, after all, he was Dumbledore's teacher in alchemy. Of all the chocolate frog cards he had, the one card that seemed to ironically elude him was his mentor's. Harry enjoyed collecting the cards, so he slipped it into his pocket. He gave Nicolas a small smile, waving back.

"You know they can't actually see you, right?" Tonks told him.

Suddenly, the boy with the round cheeks barged into their compartment. He looked very flushed, as if he had been running up and down the train for a while. "Er- Sorry, but has anyone here seen my toad?"

"Sorry he just barged in like that! It's supposed to be brown and quite large. I'm Hermione Granger and he's Neville Longbottom." Said a girl, with unkempt bushy, curly hair and very large front teeth with a gap in between. Both of them looked young, first years like Harry.

"Oh my god! You're Harry Potter! You're like a celebrity here!" Hermione exclaimed, evidently excited to see him. Grimacing, Harry brushed his hair over his eyes. "I've read all about you in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century!"

"Hermione, my toad." Neville moaned. "I keep losing him and Gran'll have my hide this time."

"Nope, sorry! Haven't seen any toads." Tonks replied, and the duo left quick as they came, in quite the hurry. Tonks and Harry shared a laugh at the sudden departure of the two, especially when they realised that the toad was hopping slowly behind them, the two of them not realising it due to their frantic nature. By the time either Tonks or Harry had realised this, though, the two toad-seeking youths had vanished. They then settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated by Tonks' chewing and occasional inflation of a bubble from her mouth, which matched the pink hue of her hair. Harry stared outside, watching the scenery pass by. He'd never seen landscapes like these, vast expenses of tranquil lakes, the occasional seagull passing by. If he strained his eyes far enough, he could have sworn he saw some large scaled leviathan snaking its way through the water.

Tonks popped the bubble that had reached a sizeable appearance. "We're about to get to Hogwarts, so uh… Harry, turn around."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"It's a _long_ way to the toilets. Like, two cabins long. So…" She said, "I'm going to change here."

Harry very quickly turned around. He could hear the rustle of Tonks taking off her normal clothes and putting on her robe. His posture to be akin to that of a petrified tree, frozen forever in time. He had no plans to turn around and break Tonks' trust now. Harry had been through combat with one of the most skilled men to be alive in the century and still nothing quite like this had felt like it slowed down time. These were the longest few seconds of his life.

"Alright, I'm done. How do I look?" Harry turned back, and took in the seventh-year girl in her school robes. The school robes were mainly black, highlighted by yellow, flowing down to mid-ankle. Underneath, Tonks wore a formal white shirt and yellow-grey striped tie. The top button of the shirt was undone, and the tie hung loosely around her neck. Looking down, he saw that she was wearing a black skirt with black thigh-high stockings. She was still wearing her white chucks, which clashed with the rest of the majority black ensemble.

"Well, go on then, you change too. Promise I won't sneak a peek." She winked at him, and spun around. Harry opened his trunk up and scavenged inside for his school robes. There they were. Quickly, he undressed down to his underwear and threw something akin to what Tonks had on. The only differences were that he didn't put on his tie, and he had black pants and boots that went along with his clothes. He shrugged on the black robes, coloured with grey highlights. Lastly, he put on the wand holster on his hip, slipping the wand in, and gave Tonks the all-clear.

She gave him a once-over, her eyes roving down his person. "Where's your tie?"

"I don't know how to, um…" Harry gestured uselessly to the untied fabric in his hands and his neck.

Tonks strode up to him, grabbed the tie and started looping it around his neck. "Well, the way you're supposed to do it is like this. Measure the proper length for each, and then cross it over, go under and around, under and around, and then tuck it in like…" She slipped the fatter end of the tie in and pulled it straight. "Voila! You have a tie."

Harry thanked Tonks profusely, and asked her to show him how she did it repeatedly, slower this time. She obliged, this time giving him a lesson using her own tie that he could follow with the grey one around his neck. They sat side-by-side for a while, the repetitive nature of what they were doing slowly lapsing into a comfortable rhythm. Though Tonks wasn't the worst teacher, Harry still had trouble trying to weave the fabric in his hand into a passable imitation of the knot that Tonks showed him. In the end, he ended up with a slightly askew tie, the best outcome out of the numerous times he had tried.

The door to the carriage barged open again, and three boys came in. The middle was Draco Malfoy, the boy from Madam Malkin's shop. Flanking him were two heavy-set boys, one with black hair and one with brown. Their facial features looked very similar, each looking quite cross. Overall, they were quite the intimidating group.

"They keep saying Harry Potter is in this carriage." Draco said, and his eyes fell upon Harry. "Oh, hello. Nice to meet you again. I heard you were here so I wanted to say hi. This is Crabbe, this is Goyle." He pointed to the black and brown haired boy.

Harry noticed Tonks tensing up next to him, her hand automatically twitching towards her wand. "Hey Draco," he said, waving.

"You're friends with him?" Tonks asked.

"You're friends with this blood traitor?" Draco sneered in response. Tonks gritted her teeth, incensed by Draco's egging on.

"Let's all just calm down, okay?" Harry tried to placate the two, though the tensions were sky-high in the carriage.

Draco turned back to Harry, a smirk on his face, seemingly uncaring that Tonks' hand was lying on her wand now. "You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand in a clear invitation to take it. Both parties looked at Harry expectantly, expecting him to take their side.

"It would be foolish of me to exclude someone just because of their family, Draco. Family isn't the only thing that matters." Harry replied.

It was clear Draco didn't like this answer, not used to being told no.

"You'll eventually see things my way, Potter." He said slowly, crafting his words carefully. "Hanging around with people like her, it'll rub off on you, just like it did with her mother."

Tonks stood up, her wand out and pointed at Draco, ready for action. Her eyes spoke of danger for those that stood opposite her. Her hair had shifted into a scarlet hue, much darker than Harry had seen before.

"Thank you, Draco, but I'd be happy if it did. She's nice." Harry said, putting his hand in front of her wand. Tonks' wand loosened in her hand slightly, and her glance switched back and forth from Harry to Draco.

Draco took one final look at him, and then with a swish of his cloak, he departed the same way he came. The two lumbering behind him followed, leaving without a word to them.

"Sorry, Harry. I just need to chill. That little brat!" Tonks kicked the wall of the carriage, and instantly regretted it, cradling her now aching toe. Her wand clattered to the floor, falling out of her hand. "Just like his father, annoying twat."

"It's okay, he doesn't mean it. He's just been raised like that."

"Doesn't excuse his behaviour."

"Yes, but it explains it."

"How'd you know him anyways? Can't imagine it was nice…" Tonks grumbled.

Harry told her how he'd met Draco in Diagon Alley.

"They're the dark sort, Harry." Said Tonks, a dark expression on her face. "His parents were supposedly Death Eaters. Once You-Know-Who died, they switched sides immediately, claimed they were bewitched. No one believes them, slimy gits. You should watch out for him. Don't turn your back."

"As I said to Draco, Tonks, family isn't everything. I'll make my own impressions on him."

Harry picked up Tonks' wand and gently passed it back to her. She gave him a radiant smile.

A voice echoed throughout the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately. As always, have a nice term at Hogwarts, and thank you for riding with us."

Harry peered out the window again. It was getting darker, and he could see mountains and forests under a beautiful purple sky in the distance. The sky reflected upon the water between, creating a gorgeous picture.

The train finally slowed down, and Tonks patted his head goodbye. "First years take a different way, so I'll see you later, yeah? Remember, I'm in Hufflepuff! Maybe I'll see you later. Don't be a stranger." With that, she disembarked from the train, leaving a faint trace of apples.

* * *

Harry hopped off the train, the cool air slapping him in the face. He spotted a light in the distance, a lamp bobbing over the head of students. "First years! First years over here!" The familiar gruff Scottish-accented voice of Hagrid came booming out, a beacon to all lost souls. As Harry got nearer, he could see Hagrid's bearded face towering above the sea of heads around him.

"Any more first years? Two, six, ten, er… That'll be all of you, then. Come along, come along. Mind yer step now, and follow me!" Hagrid jovially stepped along the steep, narrow path. The congregation of first years had trouble keeping up with him, the path crooked. Some tripped over the occasional root that had cracked through the pebbled steps below. They hugged closely to the people in front, though, unwilling to be left behind. The shadows around them loomed dangerously. The round-faced boy, Neville, squealed every time he heard a chirp sounding out from the dark unknown.

"You'll get yer first sight of Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, drawing their attention. "Just round this bend… Here!"

The path seemingly surrounded by darkness brightened, revealing that they were at the edge of a great black lake. In the middle of the lake stood a high mountain, the underneath strangely not eroded by millions of years of lapping water around it. The lake gave an ominous feeling, as though something hid underneath it. At the moment though, it remained tranquil. Perched upon the mountain was a vast castle, each turret and tower looking as though it had been through millennia. The very air around it seemed to breathe, thrumming with excitement, as if awaiting the arrival of fresh young blood. While medieval in nature, the orange light shining from the windows cast warm light all over the castle, giving the atmosphere of a rather homely environment. There it was, the castle that was built to house countless generations of students, raising them from bright-eyed youths to ready adults. Hogwarts.

Before them was a dock, several small boats moored to each pole. Hagrid helped them in, taking extra care not to crush the comparatively small children in his grasp as he lowered them into the boats. Draco protested at this, not wanting to be manhandled. There were no more than four to a boat. Harry found himself sharing his boat with two twins of an Indian ethnicity, and a shoulder-length blond haired girl with slightly darker eyebrows.

"Good, everyone settled in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a slightly larger boat to himself. It had sunk a bit further into the water. "Right then, off we go!"

The fleet of tiny boats started moving, gliding across the calm waters of the lake. Around Harry, the first years were all staring up at the castle, illuminated by the mysterious night sky. It was enchanting. It towered above them all as they sailed closer to the cliff upon which it stood.

"Heads down, arms and legs in your boats." Cautioned Hagrid as the first boats met with the cliffs, and passed under a curtain of thin ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They travelled through a dark tunnel, full of stalactites and stalagmites. The air underneath was a bit stale, and Harry peered over the boat, sticking his head slightly out. He saw a school of fish hovering underneath, though they scattered when he stuck his face closer. The water was deep enough that he still couldn't see the bottom, even if it was in a cavern. Harry could swear he saw brown hair attached to a humanlike body, floating, deep down in the depths. The boats continued taking them underneath the castle until they reached an underground harbour, where Hagrid quickly assisted the children out of their boats.

"You there! This yer toad you were talking about?" said Hagrid, who had done one quick sweep of all the boats.

"Trevor!" Cried Neville, the toad hopping back into his outstretched hands. Behind him, Harry could hear Draco scoffing.

Hagrid then led them up another passageway, stairs carved into the rock tunnel. They came out at last onto smooth, damp grass right next to the large oak door of the castle. The grass smelled like fresh apples, not unlike Tonks, Harry thought.

"Everyone here? You, got yer toad?" Hagrid asked, to the chagrin of Neville who quickly checked. Thankfully, Trevor had not made another daring escape like so many times before.

Hagrid raised his fist and slammed it three times on the castle door.

The door opened immediately, and there stood Minerva McGonagall. Harry knew her from the multiple times she had come over. In a way, she was almost like his stern aunt. She was in her favourite emerald-green robes, and a tall, pointy black hat.

"The first years, Professor McGonagall." Said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door open wider, letting the first years get a better look at the humongous hall in front of them. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, like the ones that occupied the Gringotts cavern walls, ending with a marble staircase that led to more upper floors. They followed McGonagall. At the end, there was the excited chattering of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right, students excited to have returned to their friends, chattering about how their summers went and other trivialities. The rest of the school had already assembled, apparently. However, they were shown into a small, empty chamber first.

"Welcome to Hogwarts" said McGonagall. "The start of term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

She led the gaggle to a wall, gesturing at the ornate banners that hung from the ceiling to the floor. "The four houses are called Gryffindor, the house of the brave," she pointed to a gold lion on a red banner, "Hufflepuff; house of the loyal," to the grey badger on a yellow banner, "Ravenclaw; house of the intelligent and Slytherin; of the ambitious." She pointed to the bronze raven on a blue banner and a green banner with a silver serpent on it, respectively.

"While each house emphasises these qualities, it in no way reflects upon the individual. These are just what the individual treasures personally. No house is alike, and all are equal. Each of these houses have its own noble history, and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking loses house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will endeavour to be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and Harry's tie, askew as it was. Harry gave her a nervous smile, while trying to nervously flatten his unruly hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Immediately, the room erupted into hushed whispers, as the nervous first years were wont to do. Harry found himself next to Ron, and the girl on the train earlier, Hermione. That was lucky of him, he supposed, as he hadn't sat next to another first years on the train, unlike the rest around him.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses? 'Hogwarts: A History' didn't mention anything about it." Hermione asked Ron and him.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Ron's lanky posture was magnified by the nervousness apparent in his body.

Truth be told, Harry knew about the sorting system. While he wasn't exactly sure of the process, Dumbledore had told him about the frumpy brown hat resting above the cupboard in his office, one of the times he had gone over. It wouldn't be a test, thankfully. While the system was disadvantageous to muggleborns, the founders had prepared excellently. Muggleborns were expected to be freshly inducted into the system, while they could read ahead, they weren't expected to. Of course, this didn't stop Hermione, who had frantically begun reciting the list of spells that she had read about with the accompanying wand gestures to boot. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the door, however. Any second now, McGonagall would come back and lead them into the Great Hall.

Then suddenly, several people behind Harry screamed. He fumbled for his wand in his robes, unused to withdrawing it quickly. He cursed himself for not preparing with the proper due diligence. Luckily, what happened next wasn't hostile in nature. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly white and translucent, they glided across the room, talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. One of them, a monk that was more horizontal than vertical, said "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Friar, we've given Peeves a second chance. It's starting to become so many second chances that it's become the hundredth second chance! He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he's not really even a ghost. I say, we seem to have bumped into the smallest children." Said the ghost wearing tights and a large ruff that expanded past his head in all directions.

"New students!" said the Friar, smiling closely at one of the twins Harry had shared his boat with. She let out a little whimper. "No need to be afraid. About to be sorted, then?"

She nodded mutely.

"Then there's plenty to be afraid about!" He cried gleefully, unaware that the girl looked like she was about to burst into tears. One of the other ghosts gave him a dirty look, a lady that wearing an elegant ballgown that was shredded around her exposed ribcage. "I mean, uh, nothing! Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know." He puffed his chest out proudly. Harry knew that the girl would definitely not be going to Hufflepuff after this.

"Move along now," said a sharp voice, a slight Scottish lilt in her speech. McGonagall had returned. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall they had come from. The first years gave them a wide berth, but Harry stayed still, caught in the middle of them all.

"Now, form a line," McGonagall told the first years, "And follow me."

The first years were led by McGonagall back out of the chamber, across the hall down to the right, and through a pair of large oak doors akin to the front gate into the Great Hall. The Great Hall stretched on for four columns of several long tables, each corresponding to a house. Above the tables were the banners holding the mascot of the house they represented. The tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets, and at the front of the hall was an even longer table where the teachers were sitting, perpendicular to the students. Students had already sat down, though they had left gaps for the new first years, Harry supposed. Thousands of candles hovered in the air, in the middle of a peaceful purple sky, giving the Great Hall a mysterious feel. Hundreds of faces stared back at Harry, ghosts interspersed among them.

He heard Hermione whisper to Ron, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read all about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'."

It was true. The hall was a marvellous example of what could be achieved with enchantments, extremely realistic and holding up for all of Hogwarts' existence.

Harry looked down again, this time catching the movement of McGonagall as she silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed hat, much frumpier that the one upon her head. It was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. The muttering of the students around them had faded. Everybody was staring expectantly at the hat. Then it twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll enjoy your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands, though I have none

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song, two orange-headed twins being particularly rowdy and whooping, giving the hat a salute of cheers. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry eyed the long table filled with teachers. There, looking kindly upon the group of first years was his mentor, stroking his white long beard in silent contemplation. Their eyes met, and Harry didn't look away. All he saw was that familiar twinkle in his eye.

McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, clearly nervous to be the first. Her little arms shaking, she put on the hat, which fell down past her eyes, and sat on the rickety stool. It took a while, but the hat finally announced, "Hufflepuff!".

Hufflepuff's table cheered and clapped, welcoming her into the house of the badger. She sat down in an empty spot next to two seventh years, where they greeted her with warm smiles and friendly pats.

The process continued for a while, sorting the children by the alphabetical orders of their last names. Sometimes the hat announced their house at once, and sometimes it took a while to decide. For instance, the hat had waited a long time to shout out that Neville Longbottom belonged to Gryffindor, while people like Draco Malfoy were instantly placed in Slytherin. Hermione Granger was placed into Gryffindor, and the twins that Harry had sat next to, Padma and Parvati Patil were sorted into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, respectively. Finally, it was time. McGonagall called out his name.

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out.

"Potter, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

"He's so small…"

Harry gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the hushed gossip from the students around him. McGonagall looked down at him, giving him a reassuring smile. Hopefully, Harry wouldn't disappoint her and Dumbledore. The last thing Harry saw before the hat was dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. And then, all he could see was the black inside the hat. He waited.

"Hmmm…" The hat muttered into his ear. "Difficult, yes, very difficult. Plenty of courage, a good mind as well. Extremely loyal. There's talent, indeed, loads of it, and a thirst to prove yourself. So where should I put you?"

The hat contemplated further. "If I put you in Hufflepuff, you would be someone who brought all together in the darkest of times. If I put you in Ravenclaw, you would excel, a powerhouse of knowledge. If I put you in Gryffindor, you would become a champion of the brave."

Harry thought that sounded rather good. Whatever it took to accomplish his goals, that was what he wanted. He was prepared for the inevitable return of the Dark Lord.

"And yet… If I put you in Slytherin, you'd no doubt face hardship. But you'd accomplish what you'd set out to do, indeed. Or perhaps you won't. It all depends on you. But this would be the best path for you."

Harry gripped the edge of the seat tightly. Doing this meant he wouldn't be in Gryffindor. He wouldn't have followed in the footsteps of his parents or Dumbledore. Some part of him had always feared this was going to happen. And yet, he knew what he had to do.

"So it shall be. Slytherin!" The hat announced.

He took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Slytherin table. He didn't dare look behind him at Dumbledore's face. A tell-tale flash of cyan hair showed itself at the Hufflepuff table. He could see the Slytherin table erupting in cheers, but at the moment Harry didn't feel much like celebrating. He sat down next to Draco and the girl he shared the boat with, Draco patting him on the back welcomingly.

"So, Potter. Welcome to the good house." Said Draco, in his signature drawl.

"My name's Daphne. Daphne Greengrass." Said the blond girl, extending a slim hand. Harry took it, feeling the smooth palm of her hand as his eyes met with her stormy blue ones. He gave her a polite smile in return.

The hat continued sorting people. Ronald Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, and it ended with Blaise Zabini being placed into Slytherin.

Dumbledore got to his seat, his eyes roving around the room. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide in a welcoming gesture.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are; Nitwit; Blubber; Oddment; Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down to the thunderous applause of the room. Harry couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye, not that he thought Dumbledore would look at him.

As they turned back, dishes that were previously empty were now piled with food. Mountains of roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. Harry piled his plate full of everything and hungrily wolfed down, feeling the gristle of meat slide down his throat. It was all delicious.

"Slow down there, Potter." Daphne said. He paused, looking up at the rest of the table who had been staring at him in bemusement. He saw that a majority of them had a fork and knife in their hands, eating a singular slab of steak in their plates, or something equivalent.

Harry shrugged. "Well, when the food is this good, what's not to like?" He continued chewing on a particular juicy pork chop. Daphne gave him an amused smile, though her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"So, Potter, how do you feel coming to the lair of the serpents? Everything you've ever dreamed?" Draco said.

"No, no. It's a good house, after all." Harry waved him off.

"Lay off him, Draco. Probably got a culture shock, a golden boy like him." Daphne laid a hand on his shoulder, peering over his plate.

"No, really! I'm fine, just can't wait to start the school year." Harry gave her an awkward smile.

"Uh huh," Daphne said, not entirely convinced. "So then, Potter. How was the ride here?"

"It was good-"

"He spent it with that blood traitor. You know, the daughter of Andromeda Black." Malfoy informed Daphne for him, and Harry shot him an annoyed look.

"Draco, that's not a nice thing to say. My journey here was fine, Daphne. I had the pleasure of meeting a seventh year named Tonks. She was very informative about everything, lovely person."

Opposite him, were two twins, with very similar facial features. Defined aristocratic cheekbones, slim jawlines and sunken cheeks, with heavy lidded eyes concealing hypnotic dark eyes. Harry could swear they shone purple in the flickers of the flame around them. In a word, he would describe them as beautiful. The only thing that was different about them was their hair, one black and one brunette. They giggled, whispering to each other.

"Why, what's wrong?" Harry confusedly asked them.

"You spent the ride with _her_? Did she slip you a love potion or something?" The brunette twin said. "Hestia Carrow, second year."

"No, no, we'd just met. What's wrong with Tonks?"

The black twin spoke up next. "Flora Carrow, charmed to meet you. She's a half blood. Her mother's a blood traitor, she tainted the line."

"What's wrong with that? Her mother married for love. It shouldn't matter if you're a pure blood or not."

"It's not the way, Potter. Purity is everything." Draco informed him.

"It shouldn't be. What is purity to power? What is purity to a sharp mind?"

"But purity is power."

"Is it? We'll see. But Tonks is my friend, I'm afraid, so I prefer you wouldn't insult her." Harry decided to divert the topic of the conversation to another, lighter topic. "So, what's your favourite quidditch club, guys?"

The twins rolled their eyes, in a gesture so well co-ordinated Harry thought it could only have been rehearsed. Draco, however, was excited by the mention of quidditch.

"Mine's the Falmouth Falcons. Their plays are so brilliant, and they're some of the fastest fliers out there!"

"Holyhead Harpies for me. The fact that they're all-female and take no nonsense made me want to start playing quidditch." Daphne said.

"How about you, Hestia, Flora? What do you like doing?" Questioned Harry again.

"I like caring for animals." Hestia smiled.

"I like sleeping." Flora stated simply.

The conversation continued like that, everyone happy with the casual small talk. When their table had eaten as much as they could, the leftovers faded from the plates, leaving them as sparkly clean as before the greasy food had touched them. A moment later, the desserts appeared. Separate cups of ice-cream in every flavour you could imagine, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding, and much, much more.

As Harry helped himself to some food, a ghost with a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood approached them.

"Hello, young children." He said in a gritty voice. "I'm the Bloody Baron. I hope you'll keep upholding the tradition of us Slytherins winning the house cup. Three years now. Before that, the Ravenclaws won it. But we won't let them do that again, will we?"

He floated away, wandering up and down the table to greet the new first years. Harry's eyes followed the Baron, towards the long table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet, his plate still filled with a tower of meats, all looking rather raw. McGonagall was talking to Dumbledore.

"That's Professor Snape, our head of house." Hestia followed his gaze.

The professor in question had billowy black robes and long, greasy looking black hair. A rather large and crooked nose hung from the front of his face. He was talking with a turbaned professor. Just for a second, the turbaned professor and Harry's eyes met, and suddenly, Harry felt a sharp, hot pain shoot into the scar on his forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"Potter? What happened?" Daphne asked, her eyes darting around.

"Nothing. Who's that sitting next to Professor Snape, then?"

"It's Professor Quirrell. This is his first year here. He's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Previous teacher drowned in the lake, we heard." Flora menacingly said.

Harry continued to stare at the turbaned professor nervously, but their eyes didn't meet again. Finally, their desserts vanished off the top of their plates, and Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall eventually fell silent.

"Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students," at this, his eyes fell upon the Gryffindor table, "Should remember that as well. Full of dangerous beasts, best not to risk it. I have been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everybody that does not wish to die a very painful death. And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

The smiles of the other teachers had become a bit strange. Dumbledore gave his wand a flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "And away we go!"

And the school bellowed out after the words,

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do you best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot!"

Everybody finished the song at different times, until at last, only the Weasley twins Fred and George were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years waited along with two prefects until the chattering crowds left. Harry noticed Crabbe and Goyle waiting with them, towering slightly above all the first years. Unlike Ron, they had both the height and the width.

"Remember the way we bring you, but if you don't you can always ask us. Professor Snape's our head of house, you'll meet him soon." Said the female prefect who proceeded to answer the inquisitive first year's questions, while the male prefect preferred to lean on the table beside her.

They lead them out of the Great Hall, down a marble staircase, and past several corridors with suits of armour, portraits and hanging tapestries. They slowly climbed further and further down, until they reached a low-ceilinged dungeon like corridor. Actually, Harry wasn't sure this was not the dungeon.

They were lead forwards until they encountered a dead end, a blank stretch of wall. Harry thought this odd, seeing as how an end to a corridor like this would usually be populated with a tapestry or table or something.

"Montpellier." Announced the male prefect, to the inconspicuous wall. It swung open, revealing a common room inside. "The password has a tradition of being named after types of snakes."

The common room had two levels to it, linked by a black metal staircase. The level they were on had bookshelves and tables, a relaxing place for study or recreation. The level below was more for rest and relaxation, populated with couches and beanbags. However, it was the glass wall at the side of the level below that had their attention. It led out into what Harry presumed was the lake outside, schools of the same kind of fish Harry had seen swimming past. Among them swam bigger creatures, shadows in the distance. The lake should have been darker, but was lit by some unknown source, creating an ethereal look that casted through the windows in the form of pale beams of light shining through.

The female prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory, and the male prefect directed the boys through another. Inside, they found that they had individual rooms, which he assigned them to. Harry found that he had the room at the end of the corridor, which was just the way he liked it. His bed was a four-poster hung with deep green velvet curtains, and in the corner of the room was a long mahogany desk and empty bookshelf. His trunk had already been brought up. Hedwig sat in the corner, already having turned in for the night. He had no plans to disturb her from her deep slumber, as he was sure she was as tired as he was. Harry quickly washed up in his on-suite bathroom, put on his casual clothes, and fell into bed.

Sleep claimed him at once, though his dreams did not let him rest much. He dreamed of his parents, who ignored him, the black sheep of the family. He dreamed of Dumbledore fixing him with a disappointed stare. He dreamed of Quirrell, whose turban kept growing larger and larger, bits of it prodding out, as if something was struggling to break free, but refused to pop. He dreamed of Tonks, growing further and further from him, until he smelled the apple scent no longer. Right before he could run after her though, the turban finally burst, and sickly green light sprung forward. Harry awoke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, the darkness enveloping him once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke up the next day, feeling refreshed. All thoughts of the dream were gone from his mind. He dragged himself out of his bed, washing up, shedding his casual clothes and putting on his school robes. Hedwig, his new owl had watched him with wide, open eyes as he paced around his room, throwing together his books for the day. She greeted him with a 'hoot' as he fed her a tiny owl treat. Opening his door, he was met with the sight of Draco and Daphne, who were talking to each other in the corridors in front of Draco's room. When they saw him, Draco clammed up, which made Daphne turn away from him in a huff. Whatever they were discussing apparently involved him.

"So, Potter. Want to eat breakfast together?" Draco offered. Harry took him up on it. Together, the three of them made their way down to the Great Hall. Harry made a few wrong turns, which turned out to be rather costly as they had to wait for the giant marble staircases to rotate back to them. Yes, it turns out that the castle was plenty confusing due to its rather similar looking corridors and changing layout. Harry felt like this would continue until they would finally get familiar with the castle.

When they got to the Great Hall, it was crowded, but not as occupied as the night before. The trio of children sat down at the same spot they had last night, this time with Daphne sitting opposite them. The food was already there, fresh plates of sizzling bacon, hashbrowns, beans and toast. Harry took a slice of bread and started spreading some jam on it. While he would have enjoyed some bacon, he understood that if he wanted to keep in tip-top shape, he could only eat healthily. Bacon was reserved only for special occasions.

"How was your sleep?" Harry asked both of them. Draco waved him off, in favour of chewing the piece of ham in his mouth properly.

"It was fine." Daphne replied. "It's the first time I've slept alone in a room to myself. I usually sleep with my sister next to me, so it was a bit scary."

"What's your sister's name?"

"Astoria."

Seeing as Daphne didn't offer up any further information, Harry tried to probe further. "What's she like?"

"She's okay. She's the typical youngest child, gets all the parent's attention, doted on by father, it's not like she wants to stop it. Who would?"

"I see. Does she ever get on your nerves?"

"Constantly." Daphne was a girl of little words.

"Draco, do you have any siblings?"

"No. I'm an only child. My parents never needed another, since I was a boy."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daphne's eyes flashed dangerously, as if it was a touchy subject for her.

"Nothing, Greengrass. I'm just saying you wouldn't have ended up with a younger sister if you'd been born a boy." Draco drawled, "You need one to carry on the family line, you know?"

Daphne's grip around her fork got tighter, and Harry thought she looked ready to stab someone. "A girl is just as able to run her family as a man, Malfoy."

"Hold on, let's calm down. But yes, Draco, honestly, it's come to the point that girls are able to inherit the family name. Just because it wasn't done before doesn't mean it can't be done now."

Draco gritted his teeth. "My father said that just because society's idiotic doesn't mean we need to be."

"But what makes your father right, Draco? What makes him right over others?"

Draco was silent after that. They finished eating their breakfast, and quickly ran off to class, as they were a little late. It was a Monday, so their first class was Charms. It was to be conducted with Ravenclaw. They stood outside the class, unsure of whether they were supposed to go in. Harry was met with his fellow year mates, such as Blaise Zabini, who had come up to them and introduced himself. Blaise was an olive-skinned boy, who, while his cheeks still carried some baby fat, was already growing defined cheekbones and a sharp and strong chin.

"Do you know if the teacher's inside?" said Blaise, who was trying to peep through the cracks on the door. The lights were off. Blaise's voice carried a faint Italian accent that was not unpleasant to the ear.

"Please move, let's keep the corridor empty. Ah, here we are, room two-o-six." A rather short man appeared in front of them. This man was short, and had very squirrely features that were somewhat magnified by the round glasses that sat upon his quite large nose. Harry though he looked quite like the goblins at Gringotts. His brown hair was parted in the middle in a curtain fashion, and he was glad in a quite formal suit. "Very good, very good, in we go now. Good heavens, why not just go in?"

The room was arranged in a semi-circle, which Harry thought quite odd as the outside didn't seem to reflect that. Where outside there was a straight wall, inside there was curved. Harry chalked it up to magic. Harry sat down next to Draco and Daphne, who seemed to want to stick closely to his side. Next to Draco was Blaise. When they had all gone inside and sat down, the small man approached the desk at the front of the room.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The man levitated a box, and settled it down softly in front of the desk. He then clambered up onto it. "Right, right, can everyone hear me? My name is Professor Flitwick, and I'll be your teacher for charms. Charms is a wondrous, quite useful subject. Can anyone here tell me why charms are so important?"

An eager hand shot up from a student clad in Ravenclaw robes.

"Yes, miss…?"

"Su Li. It's because charms are able to change what an object does. You could make someone really loud, or you could make something float. Charms are the basis on so many things, such wards, or brooms."

"Nicely answered. Ten points to Ravenclaw." Flitwick seemed particularly happy as he said that. "Charms is such a vast subject. If one is to study charms to its full extent, they must be a wizard or witch who is able to adapt and think out of the box. I just demonstrated a particularly useful application of a levitation charm. It's particularly useful for me because I would throw my back out if I had to carry my trusty box everywhere with me. As you can see, lessons aren't going to be fun without my box, because half of you wouldn't be able to see me." A chuckle rippled through the class.

"Who here can tell me what's the most important thing to do with charms?" At this, Blaise raised his hand. "Ah, Mr…"

"My name's Blaise. What's most important is concentration, precise wand movements, and the proper pronunciation of an incantation."

"Excellent answer, textbook, in fact. Ten points to Slytherin. I hope you will all follow his example and read ahead."

Blaise seemed to glow with the praise.

"Now, before we master any spells, let us practise the basics. Let's do a swish and flick, swish and flick. Yes, the key to good charms is a strong foundation. Be very careful now, I don't want to see anyone cast a single spell quite yet, no matter how far along you've read. It's very dangerous to perform charms without knowing what you're doing. You wouldn't believe how many arms I've had to reattach to their owners. Let's hope it doesn't happen this year!"

Harry took out his wand, which felt rather warm in his hand. Since that day in the shop, he hadn't cast a single spell. There was no need to, as Harry had been busy packing and preparing for his time in Hogwarts. He would resume his usual training regime soon, after he got settled in. His wand felt rather excited, as if it was raring to sprout into flames to show off to all his classmates. Of course, Harry did no such thing, instead practising what Flitwick had showed him.

While the rest of the class had continued to do so, Flitwick had gone around the class, taking down their names for roll call. Along the way, he made slight adjustments to their swishing and their flicking, minutely changing the way they held themselves until they stood up to his satisfaction. He made his way over to Harry, finally coming to a stop in front of him.

"Ah, Mr… Harry Potter!" He squeaked. Harry gave him a thin smile.

"Morning, Professor. Pleased to see you today."

"No, no, the pleasures all mine." Flitwick hastily regained control of himself. "Excellent, I see you're holding your wand perfectly! Flexible, yet firm. This isn't your first time practising with a wand, is it?"

"No, Sir. Though I have to admit, the wand's a little lighter than what I'm used to." At this, Harry swore he felt the wand grow colder in retaliation to his words.

"Yes, yes. Continue on." Flitwick wandered off. Thankfully, the tiny professor didn't hang around him, preferring to move on to new students.

Though it was a double period, Harry found the time moved quite fast. The repetitive action of swishing and flicking was already an action he had grown comfortable to, under Dumbledore's tutoring. The lesson was more a welcome tea than an actual lesson, he decided. It gave time for the muggleborn students to adapt to this strange new magic, so he had no problem with that.

He had noticed that Draco had stopped flicking his wand around, instead fixing the ceiling with a very interested glare. Daphne had begun sketching on her book. He leaned over. She'd begun a very detailed sketch of the head of a bird of some short.

"That's pretty good, Daphne." He complimented her.

"Wha-" Daphne instantly shrunk away from him. Perhaps Harry had been leaning a bit close. "Thanks, Potter. It's one of my favourite birds, the bluebird."

"You're good enough to draw in the future, you know. In the muggle world, they pay thousands for drawings like these."

"Not good enough for the magical world." Daphne's brows furrowed. "Why're you even bothering with this? You probably already know how to use a wand."

"I mean, if I'm given a chance to review my basics, I'll take it. Can never have enough practice, you know?"

"Potter?"

"Yes Daphne?"

"You're weird."

Their next period was Astrology, this time with Hufflepuff. It was located at the very top of a tower, which Harry, Daphne and Draco had trouble finding. Luckily, a seventh year from Ravenclaw was able to direct them. They had to climb up a ladder to access the observatory dome. Inside, unlike the charms room, which had wooden chairs fit for lectures, the astrology room was cosier. A large dome opened up at the ceiling, revealing the night sky littered with stars. Harry chalked this up to magic again, seeing as it was the start of the day. This time, Harry was seated alone with Daphne, while Draco sat with Blaise. They had been instructed to sit in the circular sofas by the teacher in groups of two. Between the sofas was a round ornate wooden table, with actual teapots and cups this time.

The professor, who introduced herself as Aurora Sinistra, a woman with ebony skin and a kind face stood in front of them all. "Good morning class. I hope you have all purchased the telescopes needed for this class? Otherwise, I am afraid you'll just have to cup your hands to act as binoculars of sort." It was impossible to tell if she was joking. "Welcome to Divination. In our first year, we'll be learning the position of the stars, and divining what they mean. The stars are a wondrous creation. Many species, such as Centaurs, rely on the stars. Their entire culture has been based around it. Another species that uses it? Humans. Long before the invention of modern-day location charms, our ancestors used the stars to navigate. In fact, it was because of the stars that we even learned how to divine the location of anything we sought out. It is my goal for you all to learn these stars and constellations by heart. It's also required in your examinations."

That particular announcement was met by loud groans by everyone.

"We won't be using the telescopes today, but I expect you to bring them next class. If any of you haven't figured this out yet, then listen. Beneath the handle of your telescope is a button, which nicely packs it down for you so you do not have to lug a great big telescope everywhere."

They spent their period talking about how to locate the stars of the Milky Way. They then were tasked to search for them in the enchanted night sky, which apparently was a perfect recreation of the exact night sky they would be having today. Harry pointed up at the sky, at a particularly big star.

"That'll be Jupiter, then?"

"No, Potter, that's Neptune."

"Oh." Harry paused. "So the one next to it is Jupiter?"

"No, Potter. That's Uranus." Daphne looked at him. "You know, you're really terrible at this. I would have expected someone of your upbringing to have figured this all out by now."

"Never been taught," Harry shrugged. It was true, Harry didn't see the need of knowing the exact location of a certain star at a certain time in the day. Neither did Dumbledore, who spent their time doing other activities that interested them. The pair spent some time in silence, Daphne looking rather bored, having discerned the placement of all the stars she was required to find. "So that's Jupiter?"

"It's Venus!"

* * *

Slytherins and Hufflepuffs stared at the black cat on the teacher's desk alike. It was thin, but its fur was impeccably groomed. The cat had no collar. They were in a classroom, the most normal looking classroom of the day. Each of them had a separate seat and desks. In one side of the room, there was a long table that held many items, such as bricks, gold coins, matchsticks, and needles. There was even a cage of squeaking rats. The Hufflepuffs had deigned it upon themselves to sit down in the front, and the Slytherins were all too happy to acquiesce to their request.

"Do you think the rats are for the cat?" Asked Blaise from in front of Harry.

The cat meowed, seemingly in response. It jumped off the desk, but before it hit the floor, it morphed into a very cross looking McGonagall. The class 'oohed' and 'aahed'.

"Transfiguration," She paused, scanning the room, "is one of the most complex arts of magic. The art of transfiguration is something that very few can claim they have mastered. There is someone in this castle right now who can boast that he is the absolute master of transfiguration. Albus Dumbledore. And yet, if you think mastering transfiguration is hard, you will be sadly disappointed to find that it is even harder to pick up. Transfiguration is a state of mind."

She took a rat from their cage the corner of the room. She was met with a flurry of activity, rats trying their best to escape the imprisonment that they were sentenced to. McGonagall ignored them, striding back to her desk at the front of the room and placing the rat down. It looked around inquisitively, at all the chubby faces staring intensely at it. "It takes concentration and willpower to transfigure, say, a rat, to…" She pointed her wand at the rat, and its furry coat suddenly took a bronze sheen, the rat forced to stay upright as its large body was morphed into a slim stem. The rat had transformed into a bronze goblet, its tail curling around to become the base. "This goblet."

Murmurs broke out from the class. A Hufflepuff girl raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Abbott?" McGonagall raised a perfectly tailored eyebrow in her direction.

"Is the rat… okay?" The dirty-blonde haired girl squeaked out.

"All these rats have been transfigured from bricks at the start of the lesson. Why is this more humane than transfiguring an actual rat?"

Draco answered this one, "Transfigured creatures have no thought, they only serve to fulfil the purpose of their master."

"Good, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points to Slytherin. And can anyone tell me why using these would be akin to using a real rat?"

"As long as they have been transfigured properly, there should be no difference between a real rat and a brick-turned-rat."

"Very good, Mr. Zabini. Ten more points to Slytherin. The art of transfiguration is a very delicate process. If I transformed the goblet back into a rat, I would need to understand the basic biology of it. Does it require a heart, a brain to function? It does, so I must focus on creating a creature with such organs. If we miss out on anything, I am afraid the rat will live a very short existence."

McGonagall raised her wand again, and a rat appeared in place of a goblet. However, it soon collapsed, turning into a brick. "This was because I didn't picture a heart in my reconstruction of the rat. Conversely, if I were to transfigure a rat into a goblet, I would have to picture not only its exterior, but its interior transforming into a cup."

It was then that it dawned on the class that they wouldn't be turning rats into goblets anytime soon.

"We shall begin by turning matches into needles. The proper incantation to this is '_transverto_', performed usually with a jab of the wand. Could one representative from Slytherin and Hufflepuff collect your matches? Actually, it's the first day of class. You haven't assigned a house representative, have you? Please take five minutes to decide amongst yourselves who you want."

The Slytherins all turned to look at Harry. "What?"

"Nothing, Potter." Daphne rolled her eyes. "Does anyone here want to be in charge of our classes?"

None of them spoke up. "Well, that's just great. I guess we're doing a vote. Who votes for Potter?"

All of them agreed upon that. "Hold on, I didn't agree to this…"

"Well, too bad, Potter. Now get those matches." She gave him a friendly push on the side of his arm, and he slowly got up from his seat.

Harry could see McGonagall looking at him expectantly. He gave her a nervous smile, making his way to the side of the room where a box of matches was. On the other side of the class, it appeared that the Hufflepuffs had decided on a girl with slightly darker skin and brown hair.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter and Miss Bones." Said McGonagall.

Harry distributed the matches over to his classmates. He looked at the matchstick that he placed on his desk. Picking up his wand, he jabbed it at the match. He whispered the incantation, though nothing happened. He said it again, a little louder and more forceful this time. He concentrated for a while, picturing the matchstick slowly turning into a needle. It slowly grew thinner, morphing into something with the shape of a needle, but with the material of the wood in the base of the matchstick. He needed to focus more, he needed to picture the matchstick as more compressed, tighter, harder. He refused to allow himself to close his eyes to better picture it. It wasn't like he would be allowed to do so in battle. Slowly, the wooden needle morphed into one of silver. Picking it up, he tried to break it, which would happen if it was still wooden inside. Instead, it bent in his hands, as malleable as metal.

It was at that moment that McGonagall decided to make her presence known in front of him. "Well done, Mr. Potter. A testament to Albus' personal teaching. You seem to be the first one out of your classmates to get it. Five points to Slytherin." She then walked off, going off to help Daphne who seemed to be having difficulty getting the match to shrink, growling at her matchstick in frustration. Harry continued transfiguring his matches into needles, disappointed in himself. While he had managed to achieve the finished product, he knew he could do better. He had a feeling McGonagall knew he could do better too. Growling, he focused harder, throwing his entire concentration into his task. Feeling something shift in his gut, he saw the match slim down, shining with the telltale shimmer of metal. He continued on, though. Practice made perfect, after all.

Blaise leaned over to Harry. "Hey, Harry. Could you help me out here? I get the concept of it, and I know what we have to do, but I just can't seem to change any part of my matchstick."

"Sure, though I don't know what I can do to help. Show me what you're doing."

"Er, okay" Blaise pointed with his wand. "_Transverto_!", and Harry saw the needed melting slowly, before meeting with resistance and bouncing back to its pre-existing matchstick like state. It wasn't just that, though. Harry had been able to feel Blaise's magical core reaching out to the matchstick, enveloping and nurturing it slowly. But Blaise had given up far too fast, and the matchstick struck back out, throwing his magical core off.

"You're not focusing enough. I'm not saying this is the right thing to do, but for now, I want you close your eyes. Now, in your head, picture the match. It's wooden, it's got that big red thing at the end. You got it?"

"Yes." Blaise frowned.

"Now, imagine a needle. It's long, thin, made of metal, and it's sharp. You could prick yourself on the edges. Got that one?"

"Yes."

"Now, I want you to replace the match with the needle. Don't rush it, if you do you're bound to run into complications. Try it."

Slowly, Harry saw the matchstick slimming down, developing the sheen of metal.

"Well done, Blaise."

Blaise's eyes cracked open, and they lit up with joy. "I did it! Thanks, Harry."

"Now, you just need to practise the process until it's second nature to you. Eventually, you won't even need to close your eyes. First time's always the hardest."

Harry turned around. Already, a needle lay on Daphne's table. Daphne was staring intensely at the matchstick, her wand held delicately from the tip of her fingers. The needle refused to budge. Draco was still having trouble with turning the matchstick slimmer, somehow already having converted it into metal.

Eventually, most of them managed to turn their matches into a needle. That was the end of the class, and McGonagall sent them on their way.

It was after that Harry, Draco, and Daphne found themselves sitting down, again at the same spot they had sat in the day before. Draco had been lambasting the charms lesson continuously, wearing the ears off both Harry and Daphne. Somehow, he'd gone off on an hour-long rant, which accompanied the trio as they navigated the winding halls of Hogwarts. They had gotten quite lost, eventually giving up and asking the portraits around them for help. The portraits weren't much help. Eccentric, borderline rude, the portraits had offered them little to no assistance. If anything, they'd just got them lost even further. One particular portrait, named Sir Cadogan, that had a sword that looked far too big and a pony that looked far too fat, had taunted them, challenging them to a duel. It had been at least a quarter of an hour until they'd eventually reached the main courtyard of staircases that rotated. From there, Daphne guided them along the way, quite adept at navigation.

"I'm just saying, they could be faster." Draco complained, "I already learned this with father."

Draco cut through a particularly delectable slice of foie gras that he had on his plate.

"Other people haven't gotten it, Draco."

"Yes, but…" Draco continued to complain. Harry tuned him out, in favour of chewing on a particularly hard piece of meat. It was extremely lucky that he'd heard Draco talk to him directly.

"How'd you manage to transfigure your match so fast, Potter? Is there something you do?"

Harry paused, his chewing turning from vigorous to contemplative. "Magic is very much about emotion. I'd have to watch you to see what you're doing, if you're doing anything wrong. But it could just be a problem of your intention, if anything."

"I see…" Draco didn't particularly look like he got it. "Could you show me how? I noticed you teaching Zabini and he got it almost instantly."

"Sure, Draco. Anything to help."

"Potter, how're you so good at transfiguration but so _terrible _at astronomy?" Daphne smirked at him.

"I've learned transfiguration before. Astronomy's a little harder, I'll admit. I don't get how you're able to memorise the position of the stars so easily. Actually, Daphne, you're really good at that. Could you teach me how?"

"Of course, Potter."

A lull slowly descended upon them, punctuated by the clinking of their utensils against their plates. Tonight's dinner was of the same quality of the opening night, but with more variation. Harry suspected that they might be more personalised, seeing as how their table had a nice mix of their favourite foods. Harry took a big bite of his breaded chicken chop, shearing a huge slab of meat with his teeth. And then-

"Why're we only flicking our wands around in charms?" Draco asked again, irritated. Harry and Daphne both groaned. "No, it's a school for magic, shouldn't we be at least casting something? My arm's sore from all the swishing, I'd rather be learning things like how to fly or something."

"My god, Malfoy, if I could smack you…" Daphne grumbled. "We've gone through this before, you're learning from the basics because some people need to learn how to hold a wand. Most of our class are muggleborns, so it only makes sense they'd need to teach them. Not just muggleborns, purebloods too. Sometimes they don't get it."

Draco seemed to get that, and for once, he actually accepted the answer. Someone cleared their throat behind Harry.

"Hi, Harry Potter, right?" A third year Gryffindor girl stood shyly behind him. Draco and Daphne eyed her, confused as to why she was there. She giggled when she saw him, tucking her black hair behind her ear. He could see her eyes flick up to his forehead, and he felt a slight irritation.

"Yes, that's me."

"My friend asked me to pass you this." The girl passed him a tiny scrap of parchment. Harry took it, his eyes glancing to the girl's table. Three girls sat there. They were all staring intensely at him, though for what purpose, Harry was clueless. He didn't quite know what to say, so Harry opted to just stay silent. He turned back to Draco and Daphne, and he realised that the girl had stood around for a while even after Harry didn't reply to her. It was clear she was waiting for something, but for what, Harry didn't know. Perhaps he would find a clue in the note.

_You're cute._

_ xoxo, Sally_

"Er, bye, then." Harry said. The girl seemed a bit put off, surprised by the early dismissal. "Uh, thanks." Harry continued, swallowing.

This seemed to make the girl happier, and she bounced off, an ear-splitting grin on her face. Harry could see her returning to her friends, who all shrieked when she sat down, beginning to grill her about whatever girls talked about in their age. Daphne gave him a look of what Harry would consider to be derision.

"What, Daphne?"

"Nothing, Potter."

* * *

They had started their day off by attending their first History of Magic lecture. Sadly, that lesson seemed the most boring to Harry. A ghost called Professor Binns had been floating in front of the lecture hall, reading through a book. The special thing about History of Magic was that it was held with all the houses together in one room in a joint lecture. Something that was taken advantage of by all the students, it seemed, as they did nothing but play around with their friends, as eleven-year-olds are wont to do. Harry had tried his best to listen, he really did, but even Binn's sonorous tone turned him off to the lecture. What kind of energy-riddled child would even bother to sit down and listen to a boring lecture on magic in the medieval times of Europe?

Clearly, the memo didn't reach Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired girl who Harry had met on the train. She was sitting next to another girl from Gryffindor, who Harry didn't know, and she was enraptured with the lecture. Better her than him, he decided. His time was better spent on other things. Draco and Daphne both agreed with him.

Already, Draco had fallen asleep, sleepily murmuring nondescript words. Daphne had started sketching something with her sketchbook. Harry peered over her shoulder once again. "What're you drawing this time?"

"A flower." Daphne had no intention of looking at him, fully engrossed with hatching the details underneath a particular petal.

"What's your favourite kind of flower?" He pressed on.

"White roses."

"Why?

"Because they have thorns." At this, her hand made a particularly sharp movement, and Harry could see she had drawn a rather sharp, but elegant thorn.

Harry looked at the page that her book was turned to. It was filled with tiny sketches of realistic looking drawings. It was good, far better than Harry could hope to ever achieve in his life. While there was space for her to continue, Harry noticed that Daphne tried to scrunch up as much as the amount of detail she was going to would allow her. One such drawing had suffered as a mistake, a rather botched drawing of a butterfly that had rather flat wings. Harry didn't comment on this.

The ghostly professor droned on and on for what seemed like hours, to Harry's chagrin. He had decided to take notes, in order to prevent him from slipping into the dark abyss of sleep that Draco had found himself in. He reckoned that, from a rudimentary scan of the room, he and Hermione were the two people who were actually listening to the lecture, though he suspected their motives were entirely different. She seemed to have an almost childlike expression of wonder on her face, fascinated with the history of… Merlin's triumph at the battle of the rather slim oak tree. At some point, Harry wondered whether Binns knew they were a lost cause of a year and just decided to mess with them.

"Father, can I have some more?" Came Draco's muttering from a line of drool. Harry gingerly took his copy of A History of Magic out from under his arm. While Harry wasn't certain Draco treasured the book that much, he was certain Draco would prefer his book to stay dry.

Finally, the lesson was over, and they made their way to the next lesson. Defence against the Dark Arts, which Harry hoped would be exciting. This was their first lesson, barring the lecture, that they would be attending with the Gryffindors. Apparently, according to Draco, the rivalry between their houses ran deep. Gryffindor and Slytherin had been naturally pitted against each other since before their fathers had even been born. Harry didn't get it, but then again, Dumbledore told him of no such bad blood in between them. Whatever it was, Harry would make his own conclusions for himself.

The DADA classroom was the most interesting out of all the classrooms he had been to so far, and that included the giant observatory. A gigantic skeleton of a dragon hung from the ceiling, above the rather plain oak desks that had two chairs to a seat. At the sides of the classroom, bodies of preserved magical creatures lay suspended in dirty formulae. In front, a spiral staircase descended from what Harry assumed was a teacher's office, leading down to a desk filled with books and other bits-and-bobs. The classroom smelled strongly of garlic, much to the displeasure of Draco who wrinkled his nose and covered it with his handkerchief.

Professor Quirrell was already there, welcoming the students to his class.

"Come, come, sit down." He had a bit of a stutter, which left something to be desired for a commanding tone. He didn't help much with his attitude, preferring to slouch and pretend like his entire body could shrink behind them.

"Defence against the Dark Arts is a very important part of your course. In this course we will be learning how to fight against dark magical creatures and defend yourself against curses. Prepare yourself for a course that will test you beyond anything you've encountered before." Quirrell stumbled over his words, seemingly scared at the sound of his own voice. The first years awaited his next sentence with baited breaths. Whatever it was about, Quirrell had them all spellbound.

"Our first lesson, I thought we could introduce ourselves, and learn about each other." Quirrell excitedly, though he stumbled through his words, said. "My name's Professor Quirrell, I'll be your teacher in charge. I actually studied, and then taught here for some time as the Muggle Studies professor. Do you have any questions for me?"

Instantly, the classroom full of first years had their hands up.

"Oh, uh, you I guess?" He pointed at a Gryffindor first year.

"My name's Dean Thomas, and why do you wear a turban?" Dean was a boy with dark skin and curly black hair. His neck seemed longer than average, though Harry didn't think he would like that brought up. Like Ron, he was gangly, as if he had yet to grow into his own body.

"Oh! Well," Quirrell paused for a while. "I got this turban as thanks from an African prince. He had a bit of a zombie infestation, so I cleaned it up for him."

"Wicked," said another Gryffindor boy. This one had light skin, very pale, though not as pale as Daphne. He had straight black hair and an Irish lilt to his voice. "What did the zombie look like? Was it rotting all over?"

"I don't want to toot my own horn." Quirrell went slightly pink, "How's the weather? Rather lovely today. How about you?" He pointed at a Slytherin girl this time.

"Tracy Davis. What's the worst creature you've ever faced?" She was a brunette with a rather short nose. She seemed rather short, compared to the girls in her year.

"A Bunyip, in Australia. I was having a delightful day walking down a swamp when it suddenly jumped me."

"What did it look like?" Asked Tracy.

"It was huge! It looked like a mix between a hippo and a lion, but the most dangerous things about it were its eyes. They were as black as the devil's soul. Now, what about you?" He pointed at Hermione.

"Excuse me, Professor Quirrell, but what will we be covering in this course?" Harry noticed that the boys around her seemed to groan in exasperation when she spoke.

"Well, it's first year, so we'll be covering dark magical creatures and how best to defend yourself against them. Yes, you."

Harry thought that this was a bit anti-climactic. He had been prepared for a course that taught him how to protect himself and others around him, and instead he would just be learning about animals. Sighing, he listened in on the lesson where Quirrell regaled them with the tale of how he had stopped a vampire from slaughtering an entire town in Romania by several necklaces of garlic. Something was bothering him about Quirrell, though, and he just couldn't place it. Harry chalked it up to the fact that he seemed very much unqualified to take control of a class full of rowdy eleven-year olds.

* * *

The week passed by in a flash. Friday came, and Harry groaned, his body betraying him, refusing to let him out of bed. Three weeks had passed since his last physical exercise, and his muscles felt like they were literally atrophying on the spot. He closed his eyes for a split second, letting the abyss of sleep claim him once more…

'HOOT'.

His eyes shot open. In the corner of his room, in her locked cage sat Hedwig glaring at him with the all the ferocity that her owl eyes could gather.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up…" Grumbled Harry. He began his morning routine of freshening up, packing his books and changing his clothes. Hedwig watched him the entire time, as if making sure he got prepared for school.

"What is it today… Potions? Great, another new lesson."

After the disaster that was Herbology, Harry couldn't wait for something different. Professor Sprout was a plump, motherly woman who had greeted the Slytherins with open arms, introducing them to the foreign land where plants had taken over, the greenhouse. She had begun telling them all about their course and plants when an incident occurred. Their introductory lesson had quickly been concluded when it was found out that Draco did not have a green thumb, mishandling every plant that he touched. One such plant that he mistakenly fondled was the _Illequi Veru_, a plant that when upset, violently started spitting out some, mild, according to Sprout, acid. Draco swore up and down that he'd never return to the greenhouse again, and Harry couldn't think of a time when Draco looked paler.

Professor Snape, their head-of-house was supposed to be present for common time, but hadn't deigned to show his face. Their common time was to be spent with the rest of their Slytherin year, letting them clarify whatever they needed help with in their many subjects. Normally, their head-of-house was supposed to join them, but reportedly, Snape didn't bother to show up for the appointments unless absolutely necessary. Harry spent the time teaching Blaise and Draco how to properly transfigure the needle, though it was a slow process.

He joined Draco and Daphne outside his room, which they had made a strange habit to do. Harry suspected that Draco and Daphne were keeping an eye on him, but for what, Harry didn't know. They greeted him, Draco with a grunt and Daphne with a smile. Draco wasn't a morning person, Harry had come to realise, while Daphne was always fresh and prepared.

Today was the first day in their entire week where they finally felt like they had their wits about them as they wandered through the castle. For the first time, it felt like they were going somewhere with an actual direction and not just aimlessly wandering around. They arrived at the Great Hall in record time, ate their breakfasts as fast as they could, not wanting to draw the ire of their head of house. He apparently had a reputation for being very strict.

However, this morning was a bit different. Somehow, Hedwig had figured out there was a letter for him, escaped from his room and picked it up, flying it down and dropping it next to Harry's full plate. On the front, Harry saw his name written in a very untidy scrawl. Hedwig settled down next to him, much to the irritation of Draco who complained about the presence of an animal next to his food. Harry scratched Hedwig's head, as she turned around and glared at Draco. The letter said,

"Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid."

Harry answered back with a "Yes, please." And gave it to Hedwig, who flew off immediately.

"How did Hedwig know that I had a letter? She's usually in our common rooms, and how did she get out?" He asked his friends.

"She's able to get out through the vents we all have in our rooms. Haven't you seen them? They're meant to allow Slytherin students to receive mail. Don't worry, nothing can get in except animals already charmed to be let in. The wards won't allow it. The owlery has a house for all birds, so my guess is she went there to collect your letter. You can put letters in any slot and it'll get delivered, as long as its lived in." Daphne replied.

There was not much room for conversation past that, unfortunately. They rushed off to the location of their class.

Their potion class took place in one of the dungeons, but far away from the Slytherin chambers. It was colder than their warm, cosy common room, and was filled with bits of creatures floating in glass jars, just like their DADA classroom. Potion ingredients such as plants also hung above the drawers. The classroom smelled like the walls were damp with sewage water that had lasted the castle's entire lifetime. Pedestals were placed in the middle of the room for their cauldrons. The room wasn't as ominous, however, as the only other occupant besides the way too early trio. Professor Snape stared at them, his greasy shoulder-length hair and large hooked nose feeling like it fit the classroom far too much. His lips were always pressed into a somewhat unfriendly snarl, though Harry didn't know whether it was because he had woken up on the wrong side of bed or because he always looked like that. Harry sat next to Daphne, as usual, while Draco chose to sit with Goyle instead.

Slowly, their classmates started filtering in. Today's lesson would again be held with Gryffindor. Rumour had it that Snape was ruthlessly biased against Gryffindor, and favoured Slytherin at every chance he got. Evidently, he had no intention of stopping those rumours, as when the last students, Seamus and Dean walked in, he immediately glared at them, his dark eyes following them with distaste.

"Five points from Gryffindor each. Next time, come to my lesson on time or I will throw you out." He drawled. Snape sounded like Draco but even worse, his sarcastic delivery magnified to levels even Draco couldn't manage.

He started the class by taking roll call, but unlike Flitwick, he didn't bother to walk to them, instead standing up at the front of the class. They had to raise their hands so he would mark them as present. He stopped at Harry's name, his cold eyes meeting his for a moment.

"Ah, yes." He said, softer than the other names. "Harry. Harry _Potter_. Our new, celebrity." He spat out Harry's surname like it was poison in his mouth.

Snape continued calling other people's names, not waiting for Harry to raise his hand.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," Snape began. He spoke softly, yet each word was dragged out, like a nail grating on a chalkboard. Unlike Quirrell, Snape had no issues with keeping them orderly, his reputation doing much of the work and his imposing presence filling in the gaps. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

To Harry, it sounded as though Snape had rehearsed his speech many times. Or perhaps it was just repetition over the years of teaching the so-called 'dunderheads' that he had simply memorised it.

"I expect you all to read ahead of the syllabus so as to not make my job any harder than it has to be. Classes are to be used for potion brewing, your theory shall be better done outside my class. Is that understood?"

A chorus of 'Yes' sounded out from the students.

"Now then, we shall be preparing a common potion. Its main purpose is for the treatment of boils. Follow the instructions on the board. Do not deviate from them in any way. First, weigh about five grams of dried nettles, and collect ten grams of snake fangs. Crush both into a fine powder, and mix. Your partner should also be preparing your cauldron to boiling temperature, continuously stirring. Once the water boils, drop three horned slugs, finely cut, in. Let them simmer. While they are being cooked, prepare your porcupine quills, mixing them in the mortar and pestle you have. Once the horned slugs reach a white colour, mix in your powder. When the water starts to emit a green smoke, take the cauldron off the fire and let the mixture sit until room temperature before adding your porcupine quill paste. You are to prepare a sample each between the two of you, swapping jobs so each of you get the proper experience. Is everyone clear?"

Snape was met with silence as everyone was too afraid to talk back. However, it seemed like he was satisfied with no reply. As they went about preparing their potions, he swept across the room, looking somewhat like an ominous bat who would spend its free time clinging to the ceiling of the dungeon. At every cauldron, he stopped, finding some flaw in how the young students handled their ingredients, before moving off, satisfied in himself. Harry focused on his work in the meantime. Daphne had handled the ingredients while he started the stirring, considering how they were using Daphne's cauldron for now. Daphne began crushing the dried nettle and snake fang each, a look of the utmost concentration on her face.

"So, Potter. What part of this looks like it is ready? Does this look as white as it could get to you?" Snape snarled, pointing at a particular horned slug that Harry had neglected to turn over.

"No, professor."

"Fix it. I expect better from you."

Harry took the powder from Daphne, and mixed it into the horned slugs. Slowly, the smoke coming out from their cauldron slowly turned from translucent to green. He siphoned a bit of the potion out, placing it into his beaker. Harry and Daphne took a while to wait.

"It's okay, Potter. We did well for the first time, just had that one mistake. Anything you think I did wrong?"

"No, you were pretty on time with everything."

"Think it's finally ready yet?"

"We can try." Harry placed the porcupine quill into the sample, watching it congeal into a light-green paste.

"Success, then."

Snape's voice carried across the room, finally raising from the slight whisper that he had been using the entire lesson, except when scolding Harry. "Well done, Malfoy. You've managed to stew the horned slugs into perfection."

"Let's switch." Harry suggested to Daphne.

Harry and Daphne switched places, starting to use Harry's cauldron instead. Harry got to work, finely dicing through the slugs and dumping them into the cauldron, followed by weighing the nettle. He picked up the knife and slowly started to shave down the snake fangs, taking careful consideration to go against the curve of the serrated tooth.

"Potter, you ready with the nettle?"

"Yep, hold on."

"Potter, I need it."

"Here you go." Harry dumped the mixed nettle and powder into the cauldron, and Daphne started stirring ferociously.

Harry grabbed the mortar and pestle and started mashing the porcupine spines. Suddenly, he heard a voluminous bubble that burst near them. Neville had managed to melt Seamus' cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion seeped across the cobblestoned floor, dissolving all that stood in its way. Neville had been drenched by the potion, and started erupting in red boils all over his skin.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled at him. "_Evanesco_," he said, and with a flick of his wand the spilled potion vanished. "You added porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. Take him up to the hospital wing."

Seamus quickly grabbed Neville by the arm, dragging him out of the classroom as her whimpered in pain. The rest of them quickly returned to their posts, slaving away over the cauldrons.

"You, Weasley, Thomas. Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Five points from Gryffindor for each of you." Snape rounded on the two closest to Neville at the time.

"Potter, I need that porcupine spine mash."

"Got it, Daphne!" Harry gave the pestle a few more grinds, before dumping the mixture into the cauldron, and Daphne started stirring, creating a green-ish potion that looked slightly less done than Daphne's sample had.

"It was the lateness of the porcupine spine. You need to be focused when doing these things, Potter. Even still, nice try." She gave him a reassuring smile.

"Let's submit our potions, then."

Snape watched as Harry and Daphne, one of the first few to turn in their potions, strode up to the teacher's desk. Malfoy and Goyle had already completed their work. Despite Goyle not looking like the academic sort, the duo were talented at potions, Goyle unnaturally so. It was strange watching his pudgy fingers work the knife with the skill that only talented chefs managed to accomplish.

"Greengrass, you can go. Potter, stay behind."

"Yes, professor." They said, and Daphne gave Harry one last look returning to her desk.

Harry had to wait for the entire class to clear out, awkwardly standing there while the rest of his classmates finished their potions, before Snape bothered to look at him again.

"Potter. I shouldn't have to tell you that I expect only the best from my house. Do not bring shame to your fellow Slytherins. I am aware of how you Potters normally act, but I have been persuaded to believe you will behave properly by our Headmaster. I will not tolerate you fooling around in my class or anywhere else. Is that clear?" Snape fixed him with a glare that Harry felt pierced straight through him.

"Crystal, professor." Harry said after some time.

"You may go. See to it that you do not make a disappointment of yourself." He dismissed Harry with a wave, studying the potions on his desk.

Harry walked out of the potions chamber, feeling a bit disconcerted. Out of his entire class, why had Snape targeted him? What had he meant when he said 'you Potters'? Somehow, Harry didn't think he would be getting on friendly terms with the professor anytime soon.

"What did Professor Snape want to talk to about?" Asked Draco. They had been waiting for him outside their classroom.

"He just wanted to give me some tips about my potion." Harry replied.

"You sure? I don't know why he targeted you like that, apparently he's supposed to be very lax with our house."

"Not sure either. We'll find out, I guess."

"If you want, I could teach you a bit about potions. You know, proper way to hold a knife and everything. Consider it repayment for you helping me in transfiguration." Draco offered.

"Oh. Thanks, Draco." Harry didn't know why Snape had it out for him, but he certainly wasn't going to give him any chances. He would just have to get better at potions.

"Anyways, I have to go meet Hagrid. You want to come with?" He asked Daphne and Draco.

"The half-giant? Hey, weren't you hanging around him in Diagon Alley too?"

"Yeah, he's nice. He took me to get my school supplies. I think you should meet him, Draco."

"Alright, if you want me to. I don't see why, though."

"Daphne?"

"Sure, Potter."

So at around three, the trio crossed the castle grounds to the little hut that Hagrid had specified he lived in. Around the hut, they could see pumpkin patches and other vegetables growing in farmland that Hagrid had tilled himself, presumably. Around the land, a shabbily erected fence surrounded the perimeter. The hut was quaint, in a word. While it was sized larger than normal to accommodate Hagrid's size, it was made out of cobble, had stained glass windows and a thatch roof. On top, a chimney pumped out smoke from a fireplace. Harry knocked on the door.

Hagrid opened the door, taking in the sight of the three that barely came up to his hip. "Ah, you're here then. Come in, I've just put on the kettle."

Harry, Draco and Daphne followed Hagrid in. Inside, there was a single wooden table, and a large bed in the corner. Strange assortments of game-catching instruments lay stacked around Hagrid's hut, along with a rake and broom. Over the fire roaring in the fireplace, there hung a kettle from a wooden spit. It was messy, but cosy.

"This is Draco Malfoy, and Daphne Greengrass." Harry introduced to Hagrid.

"Well, hello! Pleasure to meet you. This is Fang. Do any of you want tea?" Hagrid asked, lumbering to the kettle and pouring himself a glass. Daphne and Harry agreed, while Draco declined. Meanwhile, Fang the bloodhound had chosen to investigate the new invaders of Hagrid's hut. He tenderly sniffed at each of them, before sitting down in between to Draco and Harry, giving them hopeful eyes that should not have come from a dog larger than them. Hagrid served them some rock cakes. True to their name, they were unnaturally hard, though Harry figured that wasn't a matter of the rock cakes so much as it was Hagrid's baking. Daphne and Harry bit through them, though, in order not to hurt Hagrid's feelings. Draco left his arm limply by his side, not opting to take one.

"So, tell me, how were your lessons?"

Harry proceeded to tell him all about how the week had gone. He also included how Daphne was much better at him in Astrology while Draco was far better in potions. He left out the bit about Snape targeting him, though.

"Professor Snape got Harry to stay back after class, though," Daphne said. "He seemed to hover Harry a lot more than the others."

"Snape? Nonsense, if Snape targeted Harry, he'd have had a reason. Wouldn't have gone after him like that. He's a teacher. Besides, he respects Dumbledore far too much. How's yer family, Daphne, Draco?"

Hagrid didn't look at Harry after that. Harry thought Hagrid might have opted to switch the conversation to another topic.

"They're doing good." Daphne replied. "Father just secured a deal that he's been arranging for a long time. He's ecstatic." She didn't sound very happy for him. Draco followed suit, but chose to forgo the details.

Suddenly, Fang gave Draco's hand a big lick. "Nasty dog! Down!" Draco snapped at Fang, but Fang, oblivious to Draco's oblivious displeasure, continued on. Eventually, Draco gave up, and just let it happen.

"Sorry for Fang, he's getting ol' nowadays." Hagrid chortled. "Anyways, tell me about that deal, Daphne."

As Daphne told Hagrid all about the deal that her father had secured for their family's coffers, ranting about how he had been taking all his stress out on her mother and little sister, Harry noticed a Daily Prophet newspaper. It had an image of Gringotts Bank in the front. It said:

'GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31st July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. When asked, a Gringotts spokesgoblin declined to provide further details. Does this mean Gringotts is no longer safe like we thought it was? More details on alternative financing on page eight.'

"Hagrid!" said Harry. "This break-in happened when we were at Gringotts. Could it have happened while we were there?"

Hagrid sputtered for an answer, giving a hasty "No!" But Harry felt like that wasn't the truth. Could the vault that had been robbed have been vault seven-hundred and thirteen? Hagrid had taken out a package, the only package that was in that vault. Had that been what the thieves' goal was?

The conversation continued on, discussing about Daphne's family, and about their lessons and how easy or hard they were finding them. Draco slowly started to chime in more, to the point where he started talking about how the disastrous result he had caused during Herbology.

"That's alright, I'll tell you a little trick for next time. If you stroke the bottom-most leaf of that spit plant, it'll close right back up." Hagrid advised.

Harry, Daphne and Draco walked back to the castle a bit past an hour. They were all silent. Had Hagrid known something about the break-in? What did happen to the package, then? It was slowly starting to get dark, and the sun was setting, revealing a beautiful orange sky. Harry stared at it for a while, contemplating, when Draco broke him out of his thoughts.

"That was… normal." Draco hesitantly said, as though surprised that he had said that.

"Did you at least have fun?" Asked Daphne. Daphne had fielded most of the questions that Harry didn't, while Draco said the least. It didn't sound like Daphne minded so much, and in fact, her shoulders seemed to be held a little higher, as though she had ranted a little off her burdens.

"… Yeah. Yeah, I did," said Draco, finally.

* * *

**Sorry for the wait. Things have been hectic lately. I hope everyone's alright.**


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